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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 




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BY WILLIAM SIME. 


17 TO 27 VaNdeW/tei^ St 
E wYoi\K:- 





DR. PEIRO has devoted 23 years to the special treatmei| 
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Co., for the production of that wonderful remedy, used by Ini 
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Henry R. fStiles, M.D., - - - - - New Vo 

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1st. Xliey need no l>realcing: in. 

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CRADLE AND SPADE 


By william SIME. 

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CRADLE AND SPADE 


CHAPTER 1. 

CNOC DHU, 

Cnoc Dhu, in tlie spring ot 186—, was twenty miles from any- 
where. True, it had snowy neighbors, caverned, peaked, blown 
upon by the blasts of heaven and the sea, like itself: but they were 
as far away from anywhere as Cnoc Dhu. The hares, the sheep 
and red-deer of half a dozen mountains round about Cnoc Dhu 
weie nearly the cnly spectators of the pageantry of spring and the 
seasons, as it unfolded its wonders among valley and gorge. Kearly, 
but not quite, for to Elspeih Gun the spring of this year had al- 
ready revealed itself in a handful of primroses at the side of the 
burn, which roared down the craggy sides of Cnoc Dhu past her 
father’s shieling in the hollow ot a shelving rock. For a week the 
burn had not been foaming and tumbling so noisily; the ice had 
all gone by, and the air was soft and sweet. It was a welcome 
change to the girl, who wanted to augment her father’s larder with 
some trout, and who, having set lines where the burn joined the 
Rudder in a valley at the foot of the mountain, had been lucky to 
the number of half a dozen. But though she felt spring in the air, 
the girl was not so ungrateful to her mountain, as to complain of his 
winter moods. Ife had given them violent winds, lightning and 
thunder and ice, all winter; but that was only Cnoc Dhu’s way! 
Elspeth was used to it, and she was grateful to spring without being 
ungracious to its predecessor. To see her skip up the sheep-walk 
which led to the door ot the shieling, one could see in her lightness 
of foot, as she ascended, that she was agreeably conscious of the 
change. Yes, it was time for the birds to sing again and the lambs 
to frisk among the heather; Elspeth felt it in the air, and she turned 
on the side ot Cnoc Dhu to gaze into the horizon ot peaks beyond 
the valley of the Rudder; and it was a pity therp was nothing better 
to see her than a hawk who was wheeling toward an invisible victim 


6 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


among the moors. Elspeth Gun bore the mark in her faoe of being 
twenty miles from anywhere. She had a gentle mournfulness of 
expression in her eyes of still gray which had come to her face 
from no inward sorrow, only from the communion with high 
craigs and birds of the moor and unvisiled waters. But she carried 
herself in a stalwart style, and there was something of the wild- 
deer in her manner as she threw back from her brow the luxuri- 
ance of her harvest-colored hair to scan the invisible things of the 
distance. She saw spring everywhere, and turning, irastened 
to Will'll the shieling, light of heart and with a song on her lips. It 

iis the work of a fev/ minutes for her to clean iier trout and give 
toem over to her mother for tiie shepherd’s meal when he descended 
Cnoc J)hu in the evening. They were the first of the early year, 
iiml she was pleased to think of her father’s pleasure as she has- 
tened again to the burn with a basin. Her errand this time was 
only to gather a dish of sand, and she found the sand in a ridge 
where the overflowing stream had left it. To-morrow was to be a 
great day in the shieling. All the wood- work was to be polished 
until it shone. Rafters were to be rubbed until the smoke had van- 
ished. Everything which could take on the hue of cleanliness 
would be required to do so; hence Elspeth’s sand. When Oliver 
Gun, the shepherd, followed by a couple of collies, and carrying a 
staff, came into <he shieling, he learned that a dish of trout awaited 
him, and it was with inoie than usual complaisance that he un- 
wound a plaid from hia shoulders, look Ou his coat, and, gathering 
a handful cf Elspeth’s sand, began to maice himself fit company 
for his evening at home. Sand is a rough sort of soap at any time, 
but Oliver seemed to find his handful rougher than usual. 

“Lassie,” he said, looking into the basin where he had been 
chafing one hand against another, “ where got ye this? It’s liker 
shingle than sand. You must have dipped your dish to the bottom 
of the burn for it.” 

“ There’s nothing the matter with it, father,” said Elspeth, taking 
up a handful to show how freely she could use it; “it’s rather 
finer sand than I’m used to take into the house. It’s the sand that 
the burn has washed up of its own accord. It has to polish all our 
rafters.” 

The shepherd said no more; he only abandoned Elspeth’s soap, 
and going outside he thrust his massive head and straw-colored 
beard beneath a spout in the rock, whence a stream of water de- 
scended into a pool at the side of the burn. He was gasping freely 
and holding out his'hand for a towel, which his wife was ofl;eiing 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


7 


liim, when Elspeth came to the shieling door, and peered into the 
hollow of hex right palm. 

" Jb’ather, no wonder you cried out," said the girl, stirring some 
object with her forefinger. “ Loot what’s in the sand. It’s full 
of it." 

The shepherd, having dried his ample face, looked into Elspeth’a 
palm. Mis. Gun, equally interested in the discovery, peered over 
her husband’s elbow, and lent him her ring-finger, as he grasped 
it, without a word, to compare the gold hoop with the shining par- 
ticles which his daughter held out. 

“ Na, na," said Mrs. Gun, “it’s no the same thing;’’ her hus- 
band triumphantly but silently keeping the raw and manufactured 
metal in proximity. 

“ Christina Gun," said the shepherd, at length, “ it is the same 
thing. It’s red gold, and there’s enough of it in Elspeth’s palm to 
marry her with. There is that." 

“ There’s plenty more in the basin, then," said Elspeth. “ Take 
your noses out of my hand, collie dogs, it’s nothing for you. Yes, 
father, the basin’s full of it." 

“ It’s just trash," said Mrs. Gun, putting her treut on the fire, 
and turning her back upon the follies of father and daughter, the 
former having lilted the basin to the door with the caution he might 
have used to a young lamb. 

“ "What do ye think, lassie?" asked the shepherd, a little shaken 
in his opinion by his wife’s contemptuous skepticism. 

“ 1 couldn’t say, father; may be ay and may be no; for 1 have no 
knowledge of gold." 

“ Fling it out of your hands, Oliver Gun: gold or no gold, wdiat 
have we to do wu’th it ? It’s the root of all evil, if it is gold," cried 
Mrs. Gun, setting her table with her dish of trout and pouring out 
her husband’s tea. “ What wculd you say, Elspeth?" 

“ 1 should say, no, don’t fling it out. It’s a gift to us from the 
‘ good people/ and if we give the fairies offense for not taking what 
they bring us, their next gift mayn’t be so nice a one. Many’s the 
thing what is made of gold, mother, besides a marriage ring. Did 
ye never look into the jew^eller’s window in the fligh Street of Eud- 
dersdale? Well, and didn’t ye see ‘ drops ’ for the cars, chains for 
the w'rist, and pins for the throat? Mother, ye have no eyes when 
ye go to Ruddeisdale. Many’s the time in my dreams that window 
has appeared to me and 1 was putting out my hand to choose, 
w ould it be this one or would it be that one 1 would take to wear in 
iny ears or on my breast — " 


8 


CRADLE AI^D SPADE. 


“ Elspetb, you are forgettio" yourself. Go out round about to 
the stack, and bring halt a dozen peats tor the fire. Oliver, sit 
dotvn to your supper; they’re fine tasty trout. The lassie’s de- 
mented. ” 

“ Ay; but it’s a little lonesome for a fine lass like Elspeth never 
lo be Oif Cnoc Dim, Christina Gun; never to be seeing nothing but 
an empty valley and hearing the plovers. It’s no good for her, and 
next time 1 go into Ruddersdale Elspeth comes with me, to get a 
look in at her jeweller's tvindow, and to buy a blue ribbon tor her 
hair.” 

” Oh, fill her head with notions, Oliver Gun. Pul brooches and 
ear rings and men into her head, and—” 

. Elspeth entered with an armful of peats and deposited them at 
the side of the fire. Then she took up the saucer, into which Oliver 
bad poured the shining particles. 

‘‘ Lassie,” said the shepherd. ” I’m going to Ruddersdale to mor- 
row. D’ye think ye could win that far on your feet? We would 
start early in the morning— before daybreak— and w^e would stay 
all night at Kancy Harper’s, and come away before daybreak the 
day after.” 

” Is it the gold, Oliver?” asked Mrs. Gun, anxiously. 

‘‘No; it’s the sheep; but there’s no harm in taking the parcel 
with us.” 

‘‘ Elspeth Gun, you’re a well oT girl,” said the mother; ‘‘ it’s not 
many lassies in the town what has fathers that snoil them, 1 can tell 
ye.” 

‘‘ Well, father. I’ll go,” said the girl, hastening to open a box in 
her little room at the back of the shieling, and to sew gum-flowers 
upon a hat. ‘‘ I’ll go and see what it is the fairies have sent us.” 

Long before the clouds had risen from the mountains, father and 
daughter w^ere on their way to Ruddersdale next morning. Oliver 
was so used to the face of Cnoc Dhu that he could have climbed lo 
its summit blindfold, and Elspeth knew every twist and turn of 
the valley of the Rudder for six miles from her father’s door. They 
neither stumbled nor spoke until daylight appeared, and by that 
lime they whereon the edge of the ‘‘ strath,” or valley of the stream, 
at the first bridge and road which crossed it. They halted there and 
breakfasted on bannocks and cheese, the valley lightening around 
them with lambent flames of red and gold, wdiich gave lo the gur- 
gling Rudder an aspect of molten fire. 

‘‘ It’s like to be stormy after a time,” said Elspeth, who knew 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


9 


the sifrns of the heavens, “ but it’s a noble river it makes of the 
Rudder. You would think it was all gold this morning.” Tlie 
shrpherd fell in his waistcoat pocket, took out a snu3 box, saw 
that the particles were safe, and said, ” I hope Mr. Leslie won’t 
laugh at us, Elspeth. If it’s only the dust of brass, as your mother 
says, and not gold at all, we’ll have had a long walk for little. But 
1 have my own notions as well as your mother, i rather suppose 
that brass isn’t lound that way. Your mother’s a wee thing opin- 
ionative. Let’s be off again.” And single tile, they set off again, 
w-alking mile after mile without any diversion more exciting than 
the rush of Oliver’s collie at a cock-grouse, or a momentary stop to 
look at a kestrel wheeling from the crags of the river, or a pause of 
the shepherd to criticise the flocks. It was W’ell on in the forenoon 
when they got within breathing of the sea. Elspeth adjusted her 
petticoats and arranged her hat, and said, ** Father, now put on 
your bonnet right, we’ll be meeting some o’ the town’s folks. 
Oh, 1 see the ocean; 1 haven’t looked on the face of it since 1 was 
last on the lop of Cnoc Dhu! Oh, father, the ships and the white 
sails — and the waves breaking on the beach!” 

Ruddersdale did not, perhaps, contain more than 1500 people, yet 
it presented to the shore a handsome open square of houses. Neither 
Elspeth nor her mother had ever seen a larger township. Oliver at 
limes had followed his flocks to various country towns beyond the 
mountains, and naturally knew life; yet be spoke below his breath 
as his daughter and he came into the square, telling her to Wait 
outside Mr. Leslie’s bank while he asked the banker’s opinion about 
the contents of the snuff-box. It was no small trial for the shep- 
herd to push aside the lofty folding doors of the bank, and to find 
himself fronted by half a dozen young gentlemen of the town, w’ho 
gazed at him peremptorily, and with the air of being absolute own- 
ers of the strong box. Certainly it was rather an impertinence, tor 
a shepherd, with a staff and a collie wLo declined to be left outside, 
to ask tor Mr. Leslie, even though he put his request with a hum- 
ble voice and demeanor For l\Ir. Leslie, seated in bis own room 
behind the clerks, was unapproachable except to some of the larger 
graziers of the shore and the sheep-farmers who rode in to superin- 
tend shipments at the pier. 

” 1 can not tell you what it i», but 1 must see himself,” Oliver 
remarked, half a dozen times in rer^ly to a question which was six 
limes asked. Whereupon the young gentlemen turned to their 
ledgers, and he was left standing until the inner door opened, and 
a man, with an exceerfingly red face an 1 a pair of bloodshot eyeSp 


10 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


looked out. Few shepherds came to the hauK. Mi. Leslie was 
struck with the aspect ot the man who wailed to see him. 

'* M'hat does he want?” he called out. “ Come round here, 
man. Well, come in then to my room. What the deuce are you 
doing? 1 don’t want the door shut,” 

Mr. Leslie was a man on a colossal scale of stoutness; he was 
booted and spurred, and ready to take a journey, as Oliver noticed; 
but he shut the door. 

” Now be quick about it, shepherd, whatever it is you have to 
tell. Mail coach leaves this way in a short time, and I’m due on the 
top.” 

Oliver took out his snuft-box. 

” Never mind the mull, 1 don’t snuff. There s three minutes at 
your disposal to tell me what you are here for.” 

‘‘Mr. Leslie,” said the shepherd, pouring the yellow particles 
upon the mahogauy ( dge ot a table, ” what’s that?” 

The banker swept the dust into the palm ol his hand, weighed 
it, smelled it, put it on a pair of minute scales on his mantel-piece. 

“About fifteen shillings’ worth of gold-dust,” ho said; “you 
might have handed that over to one of my clerks. 1 suppose you’ve 
had it from some returned digger— an old Ballarat man for ex- 
ample.” 

“No, sir, that gold was piched ofi the side ot Cnoc Dhu.” 

“ Impossible! There’s no gold on Cnoc Dhu. I tell ye, ye got 
that dust from an old Ballarat man. Let me know a little more 
about gold than you. And you might as well expect to get peaches 
on a cabbage-stack as gold out of a peat beg. You’re a simple fel- 
low, man. Thai’s gold from Balh.rat, and it ye want fifteen shil- 
lings ter it, ye can get it.” 

“ Mr. Leslie,” said the shepherd, “ I’m not so very much need- 
ing your fifteen shillings, but 1 never tell a lie except when 1 can’t 
help it, and then it’s necessary; and as sure as God made me that 
gold was found in the valley of the Rudder among the sand, and 
it there’s fifteen shillings’ worth theie’s mere where it came from.” 

The huge banker said nothing, but carried the scales to the win- 
dow and peered closely at the contents. 

” Gold at Cnoc Dhu,” he murmured, “ gold at Cnoc Dhu. 
Never heard of the ghost of a legend of such a thing. But I’ve no- 
ticed veins of quartz and quantities cf granite over there, any time 
these twenty years. It may be, Look here, my man. Here’s a 
gold sovereign foi your nieveful of dust. Aou can keep a secret, 
1 suppose. Now, it there’s gold at Cnoc Dhu, that’s a secret of 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


11 


some litile importance, and it was very right and proner of you to 
come to me, the factor of that hill-rauge, first and foremost. You 
might have gone to a fool of a watchmaker who would have 
dropped half the dust on the floor and given you back the other 
half with an oftei of ninepence. Ye hear me, it’s a secret, and ye 
are to keep it, and one of these fine afternoons you will meet me at 
the tvooden bridge and show me where this stuff was picked up. Ye 
did quite right to ask to see me. ^\niat infernal scraping at the door 
is that? Oh, that is your dog, is it? Now, shepherd, not a word, not 
a single word to a human being at Ruddersdale. Back you go to 
your mountain and your sheep, and meet me at the bridge on the 
fourth afternoon from this, at half past three o’clock.” 

Oliver went out into the square and said nothing to his daughter 
as they walked Irom the square into the little street of thatched 
houses, where Nancy Harper’s sign was. He said nothing as 
Nancy; with a black cap on her head, welcomed them within her 
kitchen bar. But in the evening, when Elspeth and he walked 
dowm the stout, stone pier, and stood within the lee of its outer 
wall, he took out his red handkerchief and furtively showed her a 
sovereign, shining like a sunset. 


CHAPTER 11. 

PARLIAMENT HOUSE. • 

Joseph Nixon, in tht spring of the same year, stood one after- 
noon, with a gigantic advocate’s wig in his right hand, at the foot 
of a statue in the Parliament House of Edinburgh. The great hall 
of justice was full of suitors, and from the several doorways lead- 
ing to the outer and inner courts, men with keen, sallow faces were 
bending a listening ear to other men with faces of a similar caste 
and hue, who coached them as they sauntered. Nobody coached 
Joseph, and an incident had only then occurred which made it 
probable that it would be some considerable time before he was ap- 
proached in that confidential manner by a small man, with a hand- 
ful of blue paper lied with a ribbon. Joseph had been intrusted 
with the conduct of a case in the Outer House, and he had been ex- 
pected to make a speech of some length, under the sarcastic nose 
of a wizened gentleman in a wig. He had been expected tc address 
the vrizened gentleman as ” JM’Lud,” whereas, when he stood up 
he said ” M’Lor-r-id,” in a broad, plain accent. He could not for 


12 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


ihe life of him achieve the mincing language of the law, and 
“ M’Lud’s ” suiprise was so pronounced at the unwonted sound 
that he took the opportunity of interrupting Joseph, and of saying, 
“Mr. Nixon, you are a master of R’s, aie you not? Very good. 
Proceed.” The laughter among the latvyers so discomfited the 
advocate that he had to begin again at “ M’Lor-i-rd,” which the 
judge, interpreting as the attempt of a young pleader to establish a 
manner of his own, snubbed a second time by the question, “ Mr. 
Nixon, have you looked at your brief before you came into this 
court? 1 can tell you 1 have something else to clo than listen to the 
raw, unprepared utterances—” “ M’Lor-t-rd,” interrupted Nixon 
in an agony, for the writer to the signet who had retained him was 
frowning at the foot of the witness-box, and the opposilion advo- 
cate was standing, in the attitude of a teapot, with triumph on 
every lineament. The consequence was that Joseph Nixon, sur- 
prised out of all knowleedge of his brief, coniribuied nothing to 
its elucidation but “ eh— ah — afi— eh;” and the judge, who was ex- 
ceedingly hungry, gathered up his robes and left him stammering. 
For three long years had Nixon wandered up and down the great 
hall waiting for his opportunity. It had come at last, and that was 
the ignominious result. He had been “ left speaking ” with a venge- 
ance. Yet it was with nj feeling of having been humbled ihat he 
stood at the toot of the statue, holding his wig by the strings as if 
it were a sling. He felt that he had not got fair play, and though 
his kind of snubbing had been experienced, one way and another, 
by most of the occupants ot the hall, from the mouth of the same 
judge, it was none the less bitter to him. 

“ Nixon, how d’ye like it?” asked a jeering voice from the other 
side of the statue. “ We’ve all had to go through it, my boy. He’s 
the prince of curmudgeons.” 

“ He’s a brute-beast,” said Nixon. “I’ll never put a wig on 
again. 1 deliberately lake the infamous top-piece off in the face of 
this august assembly of sharks, and I don’t know what hinders me 
from kicking it from end to end of the place. Faugh! the miser- 
able emblem of justice, manirfactured irom— ” 

“ 1 say, Nixon, old fellow, why are you unrobing in that prema- 
ture and savage manner?” asked another brother of the wig and 
gown, who had laughed consumedly in the Outer House when he 
saw the judge retire like an old lady in a dudgeon. 

“ 1 tell you. I’m not going to stand it,” icoeated Nixon, whose 
rutfled hair and expression of incontinent protest seemed to grow 
upon the strollers of the law, who passed and repassed, for there 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


13 


was a prevailing tendency to look at him and to laugh. He was 
standing with his gown unbuttoned when a young advocate, with 
keen black eyes, and a chin wiih an appearance of suppressed ebony 
about it, came rapidly toward him. lie had just come out of the 
Inner House, where he had been junior in an imnortant case to the 
solicitor-general. The hush of success was on his cheek as he 
thrust his hand into Nixon’s arm and exclaimed— 

“ Joe, for Heaven’s sake, don’t look sc simply and naturally in- 
dignant. The faculty can’t afford to have its youngest member wear 
an expression so completely in unison with the emotions of his 
bosom. My dear fellow, screw up the muscles of your face and 
get out an expression of calm indiflerence. I’ve heard about vour 
little— eh? collapse. Never mind. Better luck next time. He’s 
the prince of curmudgeons.” 

” Oh, is he? 1 suppose that phrase is meant to stick — has been 
dropoed by the epigiammatic Bob, and — No, I sha’n’t put the 
wig cn, Usher. 1 take it off and abandon it forever. Unhand me, 
you sinner; 1 get out of my gown also, and now 1 am a free man. 
Heaven be thanked.” 

‘‘ Better to have pled and failed than never to have pled at all,” 
said the successful Usher, looking at his liberated friend, who stood 
six feet, the most unlawyer-like of men, abler to split rails it appear- 
ed, from the mass of his right arm, than to chop logic, a very Hercules 
of muscular force, with a face of chUd-like openness and unreserve. 
At that moment the gre^t friend of Usher sauntered by; then he 
turned and looked at Nixon, standing, gown and wig over his left 
^rrm. He had a telegram in his hand which he opened as he ap- 
proached, 

“Nixon, my man, yea should try this,” he said; “you’ll be in 
a more lucrative field than the Inner House cflords. Discovery of 
gold among the mountains of Cnoc Dhu, away at the Marnock 
Firth. Some samples already taken. No doubt about it. 1 al- 
ways thought there was gold to be got in Scotland— look at King 
Jamie’s bonnet-pieces— if they could only hit it. An Infant like 
that,” pursued the solicitor-general, walking aw'ay with his hand 
on Usher’s arm, “ has no right to belong to the profession. It was 
n real kindness to him to suppress him at his first brief.” 

Nixon went home to his rooms, and having dined, he made a 
sort of inventory of all he possessed. Having done so. he looked 
out a bunch of bills and tried to see his way through them. To 
meet them and bo an undebb d man he found that he \\ould have 
to part with nearly eveiyiliin'-- ’ f had collected during his years of 


14 


CEADLE AND SPADE, 


preparation for the Scotch bar. His resources were at an end. His 
career, which nromised to star! that day, was ended too. 

“ My canoe. Yes, my canoe will meet that.” he said, laying- 
alight boat on his dining-icom table, and fixing a boot-maker’s ac- 
count to it. ” My rifle; yes, 1 think it is good for all 1 owe here,”" 
he sai(^, bringing the nipple dcwn upon his tailor’s bill. ” My rod, 
my trusty wand, which has shaken in the wind of so many streams, 
how can 1 part wilh it, even to meet the pressing claims ot my to 
bacconist? And my trusty pocket-book, filled wilh lures, in which 
the abandoned odor of a bank-note has never been known, how can 
1 hand you over to a grocer? Slrippeil, stripped naked, as when 1 
first came into the world without gowm, without wig, without brief, 
1, Joseph Nixon, must start out in search of bread. Well, haven’t 
1 got biceps?” 

” 1 say, Nixon, what have jmu tumbled your rooms about for?’^ 
asked Usher’s vcice at his dining-room door; ‘‘and who are you 
apostrophizing? Are 3 'ou rehearsing your ‘ M’ Luds ’ for the next 
occasion?” 

Usher pushed his way past the projecting canoe and the intru- 
sive fishing rod, tumbled over the rifle, andstoed wilh his hands on 
the shoulders of his friend. 

•‘ No,” said Nixon, ” you’ll never see me in that old Parliament 
House again. It is farewell law and all the curmudgeons. By 
the way. Usher, you see this stand of golf-clubs; d’ye know any- 
body who’d be likely to ofter a respectable sum for them?” And 
Nixon pinned a hcokseller’s account to a golf ball. 

” Joe, what’s all this? You are the veriest old entomolcgist gorre 
cracked. You ticket your valuables with au account, one after 
another. 1 don’t understand it.” 

” It's this, Usher, that 1 am obliged to fall back upon my biceps. 
I’m not wanted at the Parliament House. Perhaps 1 can help to 
lay a railway. Anyhow, I needn’t subject myself to a repetition of 
the insult of to-day, or wait for another three years on the off- 
chance ot being allowed to subject myself to it. lam done with it.” 

Usher drew himselt hack to the fire-place and looked narrowly at 
his friend, who distributed all his bills in silence. 

” Yes, 1 think 1 shall have enough to cover everything before 1 
shake the dust oft my feet and go out to measure my biceps against 
mother earth.” 

” Are you going to be a grave-digeer, Joe?” 

“lake ycur fun out of it. Usher. Laugh away, lad. You 
laugh best because you laugh last.’' 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


15 


" And— and— said Usher, looking intently into his compan- 
ion’s tace, “ what account ot it will you give lo the sheriti’s ward? 
1 suppose you haven't altered anyway in 5’our feeling about her?” 

“ Usher, you ought to know me better than to suppose that my 
alteration of fortune means any change of feeling. No, my old 
confederate, 1 am as much a slave to her every look and nod as 1 
have been these three years.” 

” And yet you take oft your gown and your wig and toss away 
all your professional prospects at the first fit of indigestion which 
meets 3'ou on the bench. Vou lay down your hopes of honorable 
success, and — Nixon, you’re an infant.” 

‘‘ Well, be it so; but it has been growing on me that my place is 
not at the bar, that i will gel gray there, and yet have achieved 
nothing. Besides, you see these bills — they must be met. My sup- 
plies are permanently stopped in as mysterious a style as ever they’' 
originated. It is ap^« aller.” 

Usher looked at his friend complaisantly. lie did not seem to 
regret his mishap of the day. He appeared rather to enjoy his em- 
barrassment. In relation to the girl he alluded to as the sheriff’s 
ward, he showed no feeling but that of curiosity. Nixon, however, 
did not read ids manner in that light. Rather, he thought. Usher 
had hardened into a cynical questioner, and, that his surface man- 
ner had nothing to do with his inward feeling. 

” You don’t know, 1 suppose, that the sheriff was sitting in the 
Outer House to-day, when you— cli?” 

” 1 am more than sorry to bear it. 1 had hoped lo give him my 
own version of the breakdown, and my own explanation.” 

” They tell me he looked devilish cut up. Not that he was ever 
much of a pleader himself. But, Nixon, you know he had set his 
heart upon a man for that ward of his who could plead her mys- 
terious cause through all the courts of the empire if it were neces- 
sary. Now he knows you can’t do it. My boy, 1 am sorry 1 can’t 
administer the comfort to ymu which you, perhaps, deserve. It’s a 
crisis for you. Everything seems down on you. The very stars 
are fighting in their courses against you.” 

‘‘That’ll do. Usher, thanks. 1 can bear my own misfortunes 
without either your sympathy or your rhetoric. But 1 am sorry 
the sheriff happened to hear and see what a miserable breakdown it 
was. 1 shall call on him.” 

‘‘ And on her?” 

” Naturally% I shall see her, when 1 go to Corstorphine. Usher, 
wou have stood my friend once and again. Give me your hand that 


16 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


you will stand my friend in my absence, that when I am out of it 
and fighting elsewhere, you will, as far as you can, help me against 
rivals with her.” 

Usher smiled. He did not choose to hold a brief for the friend he 
knew best in the world, when it meant making speeches in his 
praise to the most popular girl known to the inhabitants of the 
courts. 

“ 1 suppose, Nixon, there is no doubt you are the prime favorite 
with her; that, in fact, you consider yourself engaged to her, and. 
all that sort of thing.” - 

“ Yes, and all that sort of thing,” said Nixon, bitterly. 

** Well, you certainly are ‘ down on your luck,’ as the saying of 
the vulgar is; for if her marriage depends upon the old sheriff, you 
believe me, his face to-day indicated anything but consent.” 

” She won’t ask him. She oughtn’t to ask on such a subject— a 
thing that may affect her whole life.” 

Undoubtedly it will; and, Nixon, how much did you say you 
would sell your golf-sticks^for? 1 don’t mind ofiering live guineas 
tor the set. It isn't much, but, poor Joe, if you are going out of 
it, 1 shall like to have a swing at Musselburgh with your clique; 
and five guineas is all I can afford.” 

“Have them as a gift,” said Nixon; ‘‘I’ll make my landlady 
send them round to-night. Hang it, there are plenty of things 
here to pay out all the creditors. The canoe, 1 dare say, I will get 
£20 from Tom Mackenzie for, though it has been in every western 
inlst and up every eastern river in old Scotland.” 

‘‘ Poor Joe!” said Usher, looking with something like a glance 
of affection at him, ‘‘ you are a stormy petrel, at home on the ocean, 
in your element rushing over a Scotch rapid, happy when you are 
puffing at a lough mountain precipice. 1 don’t know what to sug- 
gest to you. In lo7e with the sheriff’s ward — ward presumably in 
love with you— sheriff not so sure about it as he ought to be— your 
funds run out — snubbeil in the Outer House— another fellow got 
the brief. Toss wig in the air —future as blank as John Lccke’s 
sheet of paper. I can not advise, my dear friend. There are no 
precedents to apply to your case.” 

1 will go up the Corstorphiue Hill and see my tiue love,” said 
the disrobed giant 

‘‘ Well, if ycu are consoled in that quarter, you are independent 
of every other consolation,” said Usher. 

And so Nixon went out to Corstorphiue Hill next day, on the 
seaward side of which Sheriff Durie’s house, approached by an 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


17 


avenue, and surrounded by a rookery, looked lowaid the distant 
Pirth. He telt unaccountably like a tramp as he ]'assed up the 
avenue, or a burglar who had designs upon the silver. For the 
resolution to lay aside his gown and wig, and to front the remainder 
of his life with his right arm as hischiel weapon, had opened new 
vistas for him. What to do ith that lignt arm of his? No doubt 
it was the brawniest and strongest, and contained a great quantity 
of latent force; anil if going about witli it, to knock down writers 
to the signet, could have solved the problem of his fortunes, then 
there wculd ha^e been no difficulty. Hut that was a closed career; 
so was prize-fighUng, or any of the elementar}’’ professions depend- 
ent upon primitive force of muscle. It is to be feared that, as the 
sheriff’s man showed him into the drawing-room, he did not look 
so reputable as he had hitherto done when he visited Durie Den. 
lie was mighty anxious to know about the sheriff, whether he was 
at home.W'hether he would be likely to be back soon, and whether 
jMiss Durie had accompanied him I’ouud Coistorphine on horse- 
back? And being told that the sheriff was riding alone, he almost, 
gasped with satisfaction. 


CHAPTER 111. 

THE SIIEUIFF’S WARD. 

Miss Durie came in presently, and shook hands with him. The 
sheriff’s ward seemed not less anxious *to see Nixon without the 
intervention of the sheriff than he was himself. She was a slight, 
rather fragile- looking creature, with the deceptive air cf a physical 
weakness which she did not feci, and had never felt. Not that she 
affected the air of languor or fatigue due to ph}^sical depression; 
rather her air was cf one who, being fragile, overcame it by force 
of will. She was a noticeable girl, for the poise of her head and 
the columnar neck which carried it. Her hair was worn, as a boy’s 
might be, in brief ripples of the glossiest black; her face had an 
expression cf mischievous openness, the eyes containing, in their 
pronounced darkness, the possibilities of strong alternations of love 
and hate. There was nothing to remark about her nose beyond the 
fact of its being “ tip-tilted;” and her mouth was rather wider than 
perfect mouths ought to be, but it was mobile, and capable < f ex- 
ressing, with great rapidity, the thoughts and feelings which agi- 
tated her. 


18 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ Mina," said Nixon, finding a gentler use for the right arm than 
that of felling writers to the signet, and advancing with her toward 
the window, “ it will have to be postponed. "VV e can not marry yet 
awhile. 1 have no prospect in the Parliairjent llcuse; the pidge 
lias extinguished me. 1 can never hope to recover myself." 

Mina had heard the story of Joseph’s discomfiture, and had shed 
more tears than she would ever be likely to confess to as the sherifi 
went over the scene, lie had made it very ludicrous as he told of 
the contemptuous judge and the indignant solicitor, and Nixon 
•Standing with his jaws unable to articulate a word, and the by- 
standers laughing. But he had been very earnest a little later on, 
pointing out to his ward that such a man as Joseph, though he had 
'Certain attractions about him, being a line oarsman, an accomplish- 
ed shot, a climber, a bcxei and what not, was devoid of the stuff 
which he desired to see a lover of hers to possess. Mina knew that 
the sheiill was thinking of Usher, who had ridden out a good deal 
to Durie Den with Nixon, and who, quite without Nixon’s know- 
ing it, had made a great deal of love to her. For Usher was the 
•sheriff’s ideal of a young man destined to succeed at the bar, and, 
asjie was alw^ays telling her, ‘‘ Mina, you will greatly want an ad- 
vocate." 

"Joe, dear, 1 have heard it all from poor papa: he was much 
cut up about it. lie heard you, you know.” 

" 1 wisli he had. The trouble cf it is, 1 hadn’t a word to say for 
myself. 1 couldn’t open my mouth. 1 was so caught at the throat 
by the sight of that old judue, sardonically drawing his nostrils to- 
gether, or preparing lo rise and retire on the first provocation, that 
1 had the sensation of choking. Ue might have helped a fellow 
through with his first brief. But it’s all over now, dear; no more 
briets tor me. My reputation is gone at all the shops. Not a writer 
lo the signel would intrust me even, with a notice of motion at a 
couple of guineas dewn." 

Mina liberated herself from Nixon’s arm, and inclined her ear 
toward the lodge at the end of the avenue. The sheriff was return- 
ing. There he was, shaking his whip at his ward. He did not see 
Nixon. He would be with them in a few minutes. 

" But, Joe, dear,” said the girl, " is that failure such a serious 
thing for you? Don’t jmu know all the saws about trying, till, like 
Bruce’s spider, ycu put yourself into your native spot?" 

‘‘ And so 1 would try again, and again, and again, and again, if 
1 didn’t feel that, somehow, 1 am on a wrong lack at the bur. 1 
shall never bring in my little boat there. The sheriflt!’ ' 


CEADLE AXD SPADE. 


19 


It was the sheriff, and he did not look particularly cordial, as 
Kixon appioached him with an extended arm. tie looked anxious- 
ly toward his ward, and trom her to the lover, whom he was^ 
obliged to tolerate, because Mina liked him. 

“ 1 congratulate you, I’m sure, Kixon,” he said, “ on your ftrst 
brief. Highly satisfactory—ver}’. 1 suppose the writers to the 
signet are mobbing )’ou, and burying you under deeds.” 

” You are a little severe, sheriff,” said Kixon, who, being enian- 
cipated from law, felt the glory of his independence, and was not 
inclined to be chaffed. Then a silence fell upon the room, Mina 
stooping to turn over a footstool, the sheriff pulling his beard, 
JNixon feeling that he was one too many. 

The silence, after a little, became so painful to the girl that she 
rose and quietly closed the door behind her, leaving the men alone. 
Sheriff Dune was a small, neat man, with a silky beard and two 
penetrating eyes. As he passed his hands through the hair of his 
chin, he looked shrewdly at Kixon, and waited tor a remark. 
Kone came, however, so he opened the conversation himself. 

“Kixon,” he said, “ I’m sorry for your little misfortune. It 
will take you some time to repair it, and you are poor-. Do you 
still propose to hold Mina to her word?” 

“ If the girl Ipves me as 1 love her, she will not want compul- 
sion. She wi'l wait for me.” 

“ She will waif. Ah, you young fellows! Y"ou talk of marry- 
ing the girl out of my house as if there were nothing in it but a 
question of personal convenience' to yourself. Don’t you know 
that 1 have made her my daughter; that 1 have watched over her 
these sixteen 3'ears with an affection which has gone on growing, 
and that 1 grudge her — ay, every look of her— to anybody else?”^ 
Kixon knew the fatherly esteem in which the sheriff held the 
girl, but there was something in the tone of his complaint which 
seemed to suggest that he grudged her to another, because the 
paterual esteem had passed into a different order of feeling. lie 
might have been a rival, so tier}’’ was his protest; and looking at 
him, Kixon for the first time saw that if he chose to be a rival he 
would not be contemptible cn the score of looks. J 

The sheriff read what was passing in the young man’s mind, and 
with a softer intonation than he had used, he went on— 

“ She is the only daughter, Kixon, which Heaven has been good 
enough to send me, and she has done so much to make life tolerable 
for me, that 1 feel myself bound to guard her wuth the utmost jeal- 
ousy. I must, indeed, before 1 allow h t to pass from the profec- 


'20 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


tion ol my roof, be assured that she is uot goins; to share hardship 
and penury. A'cu understand me, therefore when I put to you 
Jthe plain question. Do you still propose keep her to her word?" 

“ I should like to keep her to nothing that would lessen her hap- 
piness, sherift." 

“ That’s well said, Nixon, and I’m inclined to think that you teel 
as you speak. Now, Mina is a girl who has not been sent into the 
world to rough it. She will at all times require at least such sur- 
roundings— poor though they are — as 1 have given her here." 

Nixon looked hopelessly out upon the lawn at the blackbirds car- 
rying bits of hay for their nests among the hollies, and wondered 
when he would be able to offer her " such surroundings." 

“ Besides," pursued the sherili, " before Mina marries, 1 should, 
like to find out what her name is. Duiie will do in the meantime. 
It is the name 1 have been pleased she should take, in lieu, perhaps, 
of a better. Of course, Mina has told you her story. You know 
hew she came to be ward of mine; how, during one of my sittings 
in the North, she was rescued among the cruel Northern breakers, 
•and how, being brought ashore, I took charge of her and all her 
worldly possessions, as they survived, and were handed over to me. 
These consisted of three fragments of a deed, amounting to a sum 
total of one sentence, out of which tlte most skillful heads of the 
law in this metropolis have been unable to make a possibility of 
meaning. By long study, however, by judicious conjecture, by 
questioning of the people who brought me Mina sixteen years ago, 
I have constructed a theory. Wait a minute; 1 will fetch you these 
fragments of a deed, and you can look at them for yourself. Here 
they arc, three sibyl-leaves, and nobody to interpret them. Why 
they should be torn ribbons of parchment like that, 1 am at a loss to 
know. Obviously, as even you, a single-brief mao, may see, the 
ribbons belong to an entire deed. It that deed were discovered, I 
make no doubt that Mina Durie would turn out tc be a woman of 
fortune, daughter to somebody of very great consequence in some 
pan of the world, tut what part even 1 can not tell. 1 was in- 
<3lineti, at one time, to attribute her to this nation, and again to 
that, and a third time to a third; 1 have had skilled ethnologists of 
the Royal Society here, who, without Mina knowing it, have studied 
every feature of her face, every confoimation of her head, and who 
have given it up in d(spair. To-day 1 am no nearer the goal than i 
was sixteen years ago. Perhaps 1 am not so anxious as 1 once was 
to solve the mystery, for 1 dread, as you know, another claimant, 
if, however, Mina is to be married, 1 shall care for her destined hus- 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


21 


"baud, interesting bimselt in her origin. Indeed, 1 will go further, 
and say to you, JNixon, that 1 shall expect any young man who 
seriously asks her hand to devote some years ot his lite to looking 
for the remainder of this aeed. Go out into the world, Nixon, solve 
that problem, and you shall be the most welcome guest whom Duiio 
Den ever entertained, w'hen you come back successful. There will 
then be no need to regret the collapse of the hist brief.” 

Nixon leaned over to the sheritT and took the ihree strips of the 
deed. There w'as nothing characteristic about the. stufi the writing 
appeared upon; there was no clew to anything in the few English 
words w'hich seemed to be devising property to somebody. The 
advocate handed them back with a gesture of despair. 

” 1, too,” he said, ” have a problem to solve. As yet 1 don’t 
know how 1 came here. The mystery of my own origin hrst drew 
me to Mina, and it was ccrnparing notes about the strangeness of 
the circumstance w'hich made us feel that, in some other sphere, we 
must have been destined for each other.” 

” JMr. Nixon, that’s the sort of rulbish which we may expect to 
hear in a romance. Man to man, however, it is little use indulging 
in allusions to the spheres. Alarriages are made on earth und net 
in heaven, and judging from the average matrimonial felicities, it 
would be a poor compliment to any heavenly committee to suppose 
that it occupied itself with pairing off men and women in these 
TegioQS. Besides, my dear sir,” said the sheriff, in a brusque, irri- 
tated tone, ” there was, 1 believe, some investigation on the part of 
Joseph Nixon into Joseph Nixon's origin, wdiich, if 1 am not mis- 
taken, ended in a— aliem— something about a bar sinister.” 

Nixon rose In anger, and a warm crimson overspread his face. 

” I was advised to drop inquiring,” he said. ‘‘ Nor did it sig- 
nily much to anybody w’ho Joseph Nixon was, or where he came 
from, or whether he ever had any parents.” 

The sheriff was sorry he had wounded the young man. 

“ Nixon,” he said, ” f believe iMina has a little partiality for you. 
Now the best thing you can dc to heighten that partiality into love 
is to devole yourself to her service. What better pursuit can a 
young fellow, with your legal training and your fighting muscles, 
Iiave than to win your sweetheart after the high-hearted old fashion 
of better days than ouis? Tell me, are you willing to go through 
fire and water for her? Then tak3 a strip of that deed and search 
for the remainder. You have the wide world to find it in, no 
doubt, but what is that to a 'n!i»i of your years? And chance may 
lielp you in your quest, f'>' 's kind to the ventuiesome, and 


22 


CEADLE Ais^D SPADE. 


tosses them advantages when they are least expecting them. 
man, and tell me who my ward is.” 

At that moment Mina entered the room again. She had thrust a 
little bouquet of primroses into her breast; and the sheriff, looking 
at her affectionately, said, “ You are just in time, Mina. Nixon 
was rising to go. You won’t be likely to see him for — well, 1 
wouldn’t like to put a date upon it, Nixon, for it is a longish job. 
Good-bye, Nixon, go with a stout heart and a steadfast puipose,. 
and the first news of success jmu have, write me. My address will 
be Durie Den, always Durie Den.’' 

Joseph rose, feeling that he was being turned out of the house-, 
summarily. 

Mina looked unhappily at him, and her eyes glistened. 

“You go— where?” 

“Ah, It’s a secret, Mina, between Joseph and myself, iou 
must make no inquiries. All you have got to do is to shake hands, 
and say, ‘ Luck he with you, Joseph,’ as indeed 1 wish him a most 
foitunate discovery.” 

“But—” said Joseph, looking at Mina, as if a great gulf had 
yawned brtw^een them. 

She glanced from the sheriti’s face to the advocate’s with a mute 
look of inquiry. There was no explanation. 

The sheriff had touched the right chord in her lover. He had 
given him a mission, and, as it w^ere, put him upon bis honor to 
satisfactorily accomplish it. 

“1 will come to the gate with you, Nixon. There isn’t much 
daylight remaining to lake you back to Edinburgh, but you will 
have the stars above your head— excellent, encouraging company 
to those wdio understand their celestial winking.” 

“ Good-bye, dear,” said Mina, leaning her head tor one brief in- 
stant on her lover’s breast, while the sherifl, going down-stairs, 
called back — 

“ 1 will go with you as tar as the gate, Nixon.” 

“ You will be true to me,” whispered the advocate, looking down 
into the sorrowful eyes, 

Y’es, dear, replied the girl, releasing him to join the shouting 
sherifl. 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


23 


CHAPTER 1\'. 

THE WAIFS. 

The sbeiiff was brave and cheerful till he got to his lodge-gate 
■with Joseph Nixon. He shouted down the road to him; 

“ Remember, Nixon, with that strip of a deed of conveyance you 
may do anything. Anything,” he added, making a speaking- 
trumpet of his fist, and raising his voice till it echoed over the 
hill side, while Joseph, hearing him as if he were in a dream, 
neither turned ncr responded. 

When the sheriff got back, however, to his own door he had a 
little sinking at the heart. He did not feel sure that Mina would 
<3onsider his summary disposal of her lover as so admirable a thing. 
Indeed, he began to have a foretaste of compromise on the sub- 
ject, even before he joined the girl in the dining room. He already 
saw the impecunious bar-failure restored to favor; for ho felt that 
it Mina were to hold out, he must give in; there was just the 
chance that the young fellow would hiraselt keep out of sight until 
time, with its healing influence, put him out of mind. At dinner 
IMina was not visibly affected. Had the sherifi been more keen- 
.sighted he w’ould, no doubt, have noticed a little ring of darkness 
under her eyea, which might liave indicated a little crying and a 
little drying. He was in no mood, however, to detect or observe 
what was not thrust noon his notice, so he contented himself with 
talking lightly of everything which seemed most remote, by asso- 
ciation or suggestion, from Joseph Nixon. Warmed by his wine, 
and replenished by his good three courses, he ventured by and by 
to say ; 

‘‘ Mina, 1 think of going up to my county this year. Yorr must 
come with me. The change will do you good. There’s no partic- 
ular reason, on the score of work, why 1 should go. That sheriff 
substitute is a terrible fellow for judgments. He never leaves me 
an opportunity to justify my existence by recalling a single inter- 
locutor. 1 did it once to keep my hand in, and the lords affirmed 
his judgment and overruled mine. A burnt child, Mina, dreads the 
fire. All the same, I should like to shoulder a fishing-rod in the 
field of my jurisdiction ; it would put some color in your cheeks. 
Besides, you are growing curious to see that bit of coast where they 
brought you ashore. You and 1 shall go and look at it, and see if 


24 


CEADLE AJsD SPADE. 


we can biins ourselves any nearer the mystery. Who knows, Mina, 
that the secret may not be bidden within some ot those ravines?” 

” Poor tellow!” was all the lespcnse the girl Could make; ‘‘oh, 
poor fellow! And we had so often wondereil together where he 
came from and where 1 came from; and— oh, papa! it is no use 
trying to look indifferent, I shall miss poor Joe most dreadfully.” 

“You are not very flattering to me, Mina,” said the sherifi, 
paternally pulling at his silky beard, and standing up at the fire- 
place. ” Ko doubt I’m an old, useless fellow, but upon my word, 
it does seem hard that the first hulking rascal who comes about the 
house ihould seem so monstrous superior.” 

'* But you know, papa,” said Mina, regretting her outburst, 
‘Uhat you encouraged him at first, and brought him here, and 
praised him, and gave me the idea that in admiring him 1 was do- 
ing wliat would please you.” 

“ How was 1 to know, Mina, that the fellow was to turn out such 
a dead failure? Besides, when 1 brought him here, along with 
other men, I freely confess it, 1 thought he had an income, and 1 
had heard something of substantial expectations, which all turn 
out to be humbug cf the first water. He has no expectations, he 
has no income. He is only plain Joseph Nixon, of more than doubt- 
ful parentage. You know the fair terms, however; he will come 
back to us when he has found the rest of- the deed.” 

“ And he has all the world to find it in,” sighed the girl, as the 
sheriff’s man came in to clear the table. 

“ All the world,” said the sheriff, a little sardonically, going out 
to his study to doze after his cigar was finished, and to waken up 
to think it time to doze again. 

But it was not in Mina’s power to take the same easy view ot 
matters. Hhe could not see her lover politely but firmly led to the 
lodge gate and have the assurance made to her that he was going 
out into the world to devote himself to the solution ot the enigma 
of her own birth, without feeling a gratitude which was much allied 
to pain While the sherifi was dozing in his study, Mina tossed a 
cloak across her shoulders, it happened to be one ot while silk 
which she had worn at a recent opera in the Edinburgh Theater 
Koyal; and, thus clad, she went up into the wooded slope ot Cors- 
torphine at the side of the house. The choice of such a place at 
an hour in the evening when the moon was high in the heavens, 
was a fair index of the state of her mind. As she wound oat and 
in among the trees, the rapidity of her movements showed that every 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


25 


nerve was stiunc; to its utmost tensily. Presently she got out into 
an open space, in the midst of which there was but one tree-stump. 
It had often served her for a resting-place before. She sat down 
upcn it again, anti drew' the thin mantle round her, as she felt the 
crisp frostiness ot the uir catch her throat. The bells of Edinburgh 
were pealing, tolling, jangling, striking, with every variety of note, 
and vibration w'hich, softened by the distance, rolled over the Hill 
as an invisible wave. Mina had often listened to them at that 
height; but to-night there seemed an undertone of defiant clamor 
about the pealing which responded to her own feelings. She looked 
down over the tree-tops to the road w'here JNixon must have eoue 
back, and as she sat she could not help asking herself, “ Who am 
7 that he should carry a rag of parchment with him to the world’s 
end? How can 1 be so portentously selfish es to sit down and think 
^of any man doing so much for me? And, poor papa, 1 think 1 see 
through him a little. He has lost faith in the parchment. And 
he believes in me. And he would like to have me by him always. 
Oh, how wretched — wretched and weary— 1 amT’ 

She was communing with herselt in that pessimistic strain, when, 
from llie elms at the further portion ot the open space, the sound 
of footsteps among the twigs became audible. Was it the sherilT 
whc had followed her? For the first time she became aware of 
the bit of gossamer in w'hich she w'aa clad, knowing how she would 
be scolded for wandering under a frosty moonlight with nothing 
more substantial about her. Then a figure appeared, and, as it 
crossed the space, she saw it was JMixon. it was not possible that 
he could have w’at died her coming up the hill, and followed to 
that old trysting-place. fie had bidden her farewell, as she believed, 
for a very Jong time. It must be a mere coincidence, and such she 
soon saw it to be when Nixon, coming within Ihe shadow of the 
trunk of the tree where she sat, threw up one arm as if in self- 
defense, and retreated a couple ot paces outside the shadow, while 
he peered into the apparition sitting motionless by itself. 

“Joe, it’s wre,” said the girl; “1 didn’t think ot your coming 
back 1 fancied there was to be no more of you for a very long 
lime indeed. And 1 was so vexed with myself that 1 came over to 
our old seat in the hollow ot the tree-trunk to think 1 w'as beside 
you.” 

Nixon sat down beside her, and the pair looked out on the large 
world of white light revealed to them bv the shining of the moon. 

“ 1 couldn’t resist the impulse to return,” he said; “ but 1 had 
no hope ot seeing you again. I thought 1 should like to sit down 


26 


CIJADLE AXD SPADE. 


once more here, and carry away the last impression ol your sur- 
roundings." 

" Joe," replied the girl, " 1 have been thinking that 1 should 
like to release 5'ou from— from— I have noriirht, dear, to allow you 
to accept a mission like that imposed upon you by the sheriff. He 
is pleased, pcor oapa, to do anything that shall keep you at a dis- 
tance. IMow, 1 don’t like it; 1 won’t have it. 1 shall have no good 
man running a wild-goose chase for me. It is all a mystery about' 
me. Let it remain a mystery. And, after all, there is nothing in 
these scraps of parchment that might not refer to any one else. Joe, 
dear, give it up; and set your mind to something else.” 

ISixon had not given serious thought to the impracticable nature^ 
of the quest since he bade her good-bye earlier in the evening. He. 
was so overwhelmed by the sense of separation that the new de- 
parture had not begun to loom before him. It did so now, however, 
and with all the impassioned gallantry of his love on him, he re- 
plied : 

" But, Mina, there must be some solution to the mysfery. "You 
must have been born somewhere. Somebody must have been your 
father, and some other body must have been your mother. And 
your mother and father must have been known to quite a host of 
people. To tell the truth, Mina, 1 rather think the good sheriff 
has never cared to make his inquiries too profound, never caring to 
lose you. But 1 shall be very thorough, starting as 1 do with the 
conviction that a mother you must have had, and a father you 
must have had.” 

" Why, Joe, of course; that is not much of a discovery; we knew 
that years and years ago. That has been assumed by everybody 
who has looked at the parchment.” 

*• Yes, no doubt; but what has it led to? In my case it will lead 
to something of importance, for 1 shall find a chip of the ship in 
which you were wrecked when the sheriff had you first put into 
his arms; 1 shall find an expert who shall fell me what the wood is 
and in what part of the world they build with it. 1 shall follow 
up that clew to the dock-yard, and from thence 1 shall branch out 
into the ship’s history— who her captains were, it 1 have found 
her name; or it may be that half a dozen, or halt a score, built of 
the same material, launched on the same seas and wrecked about 
the same time, may have to be traced. Well, 1 will trace them all, 
arrive at their passenger lists, and, it may be, in the course of time* 
get a hint of how you came to be on board.” 

Oh, you silly old Joe,” said Mina, leaning her head upon his- 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


27 


shoulder, and accepting the pressure of her hands within his own. 
“By that time you will have met twenty girls prettier— am 1 
pretty, Joe? — and belter than 1 am, 'and there will be gray hairs in 
your head, and 1 shall be a melancholy old spinster. Find some 
other way.” 

Tiiey sat looking out upon the descending glades until a wreath 
of mist began to crawl among the lower trees, when Mina, with a 
little shiver, rose and said she had been too long away; she would 
be missed, and the sheriff would be anxious. JSixon stood up also, 
but before they jiarted he had replied — 

“ Mina, you think it too much of me to give some years of my 
life to this pursuit, 1 do not think it loo much. In any event 1 
have to leave Edinburgh to find a livelihood. The search tor bread 
can go hand in hand with this search. 1 am as likely to find it in 
•one place as in another. Once more -only promise me, Mina, not 
lo b.e impatient.” 

“ Joseph, 1 will Wait,” w^ere the last words he heard, as her fig- 
ure disappeared among the dark trees. 


CHAPTER V. 

AN OLD COACH ROAD. 

Standing among the statues of the Parliament Blouse, halt a 
•dozen of the briefless ones discussed Nixon’s failure and dishearten- 
meut, and determined to give him a little supper. It was known 
of Nixon that when he said anything he always meant it, and hav- 
ing declared his intention of no more putting his wig to his head 
or his gown to his back, the fact was accepted as final. 

“ AYliat will Joseph do?” one and another of them asked. 

“ Put on a red coat and learn the goose-step,” suggested an ad- 
mirer of his muscle. 

“ Go abroad,” said another, vaguely thinking of the vague region 
tc which so many of the baffled turn. But none of the conjectures 
were satisfactory; all they knew was that Joseph would go away, 
4ind that before he went they cared to wish him Godspeed. While 
they talKed of him. Usher went sweeping past, a volume of prece- 
dents in his hand, carrying his head very high in the air. “ M’lud,” 
cried a briefless one, “ we’re going to give Nixon a supper at the 
Rainbow. 'Will your ludship so far condescend as to take the 
chair?” 


28 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


Usher stopped, en route for the great library of the advocates,, 
turned in among the unemployed, and, with an air of instructed 
affability, declared that nothing in the world would give him more 
pleasure. At what hour did they propose to sup? And what 
lengths did they intend to go in the matter of viands? Tes, let 
him alcne just now, and he would join them in the evening. In 
the evening, therefore, Joseph went up from his lodgings to the 
North Bridge, and found a dozen of his male friends waiting him 
in a private room, which presently warmed up with the mists of a 
mighti’’ haggis, above which Usher, with reverent eyes, stretched 
his hand, mumbling, “ Weel are ye worthy o’ a grace, and lang’s 
my airm, amen?” The guest of the evening did not look so cheery 
as the chairman. He was visibly trying to pluck up his spirits and 
to put a hopeful face upon his difficulties; tut a man may not lose 
his profession and suffer impending banishment from his sweet- 
heart without a little uneasiness. Still, to a northern constitution, 
theie is something irresistible about the ancient haggis. And, on 
this occasion, Usher accompanied his distribution of the plates with 
so much apt rhetoric and quotation that even Joseph’s long-drawn 
countenance relaxed as he was invited to witness “ the dews distill 
like amber bead.” In a short time he was adding his laugh to 
the shouts of laughter when Usher went over his thirteen imita- 
tions of the thirteen judges of the Inner and Outer Houses. Nor did 
the hilarity raised by that rapid presentation of the senators the least 
interfere with the quality of Usher’s pathos when he came to the 
speech in which he characteiized Nixon as a companion, a friend, 
-and a man. 

” I did not know Joseph in his cradle,” he said, remembering 
full well that who rocked that cradle was as little known to Joseph, 
as to himself, “ but 1. knew him when he was a ‘ gyle ’ in the High 
School and when he was beginning to exercise a potent toe upon 
the football of the yard. He will not misunderstand me when i 
add that the promise he gave in his kicking boyhood has hardly 
been fulfilled. _ In his manhood he declines to kick. Bather than 
kick, he jireters to withdraw from the glorious combatancy of the 
bar, in order that he may lead his own life. 1 think he is wrong. 
1 consider him to be impatient. 1 think if he would wait, he might 
still match his voice with those thirteen voices 1 have humbly at- 
tempted to illustrate, with their peculiarities of accent and intona- 
tion. But since lie will not renew and prolong his patience, we 
must offer him, one and all, the tribute of our affectionate admira- 
tion. We know why he will not stay. His heart is too laige. It 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


29 


1 said it beat like a sledge-hammer 1 should be within the maik. 
Joseph Kixon has the giant’s strength, as we whc have seen him 
run, swim, and wrestle, know full well, but he declines to use it 
as a giant. He goes, however, to a combat where that strength will 
serve him well. No more than you do 1 know where he is to 
establish himself for the fight. We will not push our inquiries to 
the verge of impertinence and ask him. since he wishes to keep it 
a secret. \Vhat we know, however, is that whether he be on the 
prairies of America, the steppes of Hussia, the bush of Australia, 
or the plantations of India, he will carry with him the good-wilh 
the afiection, and the regret of his friends of Parliament House. 
Charge your glasses, and drink deep.” 'N 

So spoke Usher, and Nixon standing up to respond, as he looked; 
through the steam of toddy and the reek of the pipes, and saw a 
dozen sorrowful, hard, friendly faces looking at him, was as un- 
able to find an expression for his feelings as he was the other day 
in the Outer House to argue a little brief. All he could get out 
wsa, “ 1 thank you from the bott()m of my heart,” after which he- 
sat down, and made himselt as noisy in conversation as he could, to- 
compensate for the lack of consecutive speech when lie was on his 
legs. The evening passed rapidly aw’ay, and when Usher, patting 
his arm inside Nixon’s, pulled him from the effusive hand- shaking- 
of the mellow dozen, and strolled with him round the Castle from 
the top of the High Street, it was long past midnight. In that last 
half hour, however, the cool-headed chairman got everything out 
of his friend that he wanted. 

” You;r first plan is, my boy?” asked Usher, as Oenealh the 
shadow of the overhanging rock they saw lire moonlight discover- 
ing every cranny of the Grass Market. ” Tour first plan is?” 

” To try for gold.” 

” "Very good; and are j^ou going straight out to Australia, or are 
you to try our own new field first?” 

” To-morrow 1 set out for Cuoo Him. . 1 see nuggets have been 
found half an ounce in weight, in the valley of the Kudder.” 

” Doesn’t it seem a waste of time?’' 

” In any case, 1 would go there first. 1 have to find out what I 
can about Mina. Gold cr no, the beginning of my search must 
•^hite from that district.” 

The pair emerged from the shadow of the castle, Usher silent fcr 
a time, still having his arm linked to Nixon’s. 

” M'liat,” he asked abruptly, ” does Miss Durie want with a new- 
parentage? Hasn’t the sheriff taken her up? And isn’t it a W’ell- 


30 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


knovTn fact— -1 know the man who diew his will— that she is his 
lieir to the utmost farthing he possesses, and the sheriEE has a pretty 
•competence to leave behind him. lie doesn’t often mention it; but 
it’s the tact that he had an old uncle in the oil trade who passed 
ever two thirds of his earnings to him, and that greasy industry is, 

1 may say, a very lucrative one indeed.” 

“ Mina wants to know who her father and mother were. 

“ And you will allow that bit of curiosity to come between you 
and your fortune, my poor Quixote— here we are at your own door. 

1 will be at the Aberdeen train to-morrow morning.” 

True to his word, Usher went to the railway station and shook 
kands, at a tbird-ghrss carriage, with his friend. 

“ You certainlj^ couldn’t be pronounced a member of our faculty, 
Joe,” said he, peering in at Nixon, who, clad in a coarse serge jack- 
et and common striped trousers, looked like the mate of a timber 
ship going off to join her at some northern port. What luggage 
have yoL?” 

“ A patent india-rubber canoe in the guard’s van.” 

‘‘You are an impracticable rascal. Y'ou can’t dig with a canoe. 

I should have thought a selection ot shovels would have suited you 
better. Here’s one of the Sappers and Winers in full uniform. Put 
cut your head and look at him. Now, if you could get him to 
effect an exchange with you, that’s the sort of thing that would 
help you to fill your pockets wdth nuggets. But, by the way, have 
YOU seen the papers this morning? No? 1 must get you one.” 

He went to a book-stall and bought a paper, unfolded it, and 
pointed to a paragraph about the diggings at Cnoc Dhu. 

” 1 was going to say you are not such a fool as you look, Jee; 
for there is an account of an urchin, with a tin pannikin, w'ashing 
live pounds’ worth of gold out ot the shingle at the foot of his fa- 
ther’s garden. Some of the ’51 miners have already arrived at 
Huddersdaie, and the inhabitants of the mountains are wild with 
emotion. Whew! the train’s off. Good-bye, old fellow'; good-bye. 
Buck be with you, and when you come into your kingdom remem- 
ber me with briefs.” 

The train snorted out ot the station, and the friends parted, Nix- 
on’s eyes dim with emotion as he thrust himself in a corner of his 
carriage and looked ruefully at his portmanteau. Travel, however,^ 
even the mild variety of it which consists ot getting into a carriage 
at one station and getting out at ancther more or less remote, has 
a healthful and awakening effect. He was not twenty miles on his 
road north before he was diplomatizing with a Presbyterian clergy- 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


31 


man who had joined him as to ^vhtther he might not smoke with- 
his head out of the window. Then the minister went out and two 
sailors came in, and he found himself taken for one of their profes- 
sion, and was obliged to trot out all the knowledge of ships he pos- 
sessed to keep himself in countenance with his company. By and- 
by tliey got out, and a couple of farmers and a diaper came in, and 
he was taken for a “ commercial gentleman ” in a small way, and 
talked to accordinglj’’— each incident, very little stirring in itself,, 
but sufficiently so to keep him in conversational relations with his. 
neighbors. At Aberdeen he stayed an evening at a small coffee- 
house near the quay, and next day went round by sea to the outer- 
most edge of the iMarnock Firth. From thence, having reached 
the limits of the railway system, he took a place on a stage coacli 
which passed Ruddersdale on its way to the extremity of the island. 
Every ten miles the coach stopped at a village or hamlet, and had 
fresh horses put in. Nixon found this kind of locomotion very 
agreeable. He sat cn the top, with his canoe at his feet and his- 
portmanteau strapped in position in front of him. The driver wa& 
rather a taciturn, self-contained man, not inclined to speak much,, 
perhaps because the north wind rushed down his throat and de- 
prived him of the advantages cf his last glass of grog when he diet 
speak, or perhaps because of his high sense of responsibility at the 
reins. The guard, however, who sat perched upon a little cliaii ok 
iron above and behind the coach, spoke freely when he was not 
awaKening the echoes of a village with his horn. Nixon’s spirils.- 
rose at the sight of the mountains which began to bem into view 
in the horizon. There was Cnoc This and Ben That clustered to- 
gether, and the guard named them all and told their heights as if 
they were members of his cwn family who had visibly' grown 
under malernal feeding. Then, quite suddenly, the road was over- 
hung with forest, and they saw them no more, though the Firth 
spread to the right of them, sending its white waves aniong the 
bowlders below. Every turn in the road now opened up a new scene 
of beauty, either a bridge over a stream, with hoals lying at anchor,, 
cr a stretch of golden sand, with the red-legs wading at the verge 
of the sea, or a “ shaw ” of sheltered ash, smelling of spring, and 
resounding with the shrill screech of the wren and the chaffinch. 
A stage before they came to Ruddersdale, at a litile straw-thatched 
clachan, they were joined by a small giay-haiied man, firmly knit, 
with a serious red face, in which a pair of small eyes looked pierc- 
ingly above a massive Roman nose. Elis grayness was not that of 
old age, but rather the hue of a man who had roughed it iu differ- 


32 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


enl climates since his youth. He passed up to the top of the coach 
just such a collection of objects as Usher had pointed out in the 
hands of the sapper. “ Mind my ciadle now; do,” he shouted, as 
the coachman took a box out oi his hands. ” It has got to dandle 
the little darlings over there,” pointing toward the ” airt ” in 
wliich Cnoc Dhu lay. 

“You’re going tc dig, are you?’' asked Nixon, making room 
tor him on his seat. 

“ Well, I’m thinking about it,” said the stranger, “ I’ve been 
wakened up from five years’ sleep in my little cottage at the other 
€ide of the Frith, by all these reports. My wife, she says I’ll catch 
my death of rheumatism, but 1 say belter die of rheumatism than 
die of the unsatisfied gold fever. Is there anything new, Mr. Lag- 
gan, from the field?” 

“ For the diggings, gentlemen?” asked the guard cheerily, blow- 
ing into his tin trumpet and dropping a bag into the arms of a man 
who came out from a roadside house. “ News! you will find when 
you get as far as Ruddersdale tliat they can talk nothing but j}old, 
and that’s news enough. 1 haven’t seen the color of much of it 
myself, but tfiey believe in it. Why, the school-master hasn’t had 
a boy in his school since the rumor first wenc out. They are all 
turning over stones from morning to night on the beach— more 
-crabs than gold tliere,” and the guard again addressed himself to 
his horn. “ On the hill, gentlemen, behind Rufldersdale, the en- 
tire clan Mackay may be seen any day, glowering at the entire clan 
Gun, on the other hill beyond the Rudder, and there they are pick- 
axing, delving, draining. They’ve reclaimed a moor already, 
though. It’s what they wouldn’t do under any other provocation.” 

“ But, surely,” said the stranger, “ there’s some better work than 
that going on. I’ve been in five-and-twenty Victoria creeps, in my 
lime, and crushed as much quartz as any digger of them all on the 
other side of the line, but 1 never heard of a couple of clans being 
allowed to go bald-headed to their work like that. Surely you have 
ix proprietor and a permit-office, and some way of get ling along.” 

“ There’s Leslie, the banker,” said the guard. “If they do get 
any gold, it goes into his office.” 

“ Who owns the Rudder?” asked Nixon. 

“ Ah, that’s the question,” said the guard. “ Who, indeed! 1 
say Leslie owns it now. At any rate, he might as well own it as 
hold it. There’s a pair of them would like to own it— a duke on 
Ibis side of the wuiter, and a duke on the other side of the water, 
who would give any money tor it, and the land on its banks, and 


CKADLE A XI) SPADE. 


noc Dliu, and the mountains at the source of it. That they would, 
t it’s on the way to the Crown, they say. For Sir Thomas Dun- 
— he was a peculiar, half-cracked gentleman, who w’oulUu’t 
home at any time— he’s disappeared these, let me see, these 
'xteen, ay, these eighteen years, and he was the last of his 
'e, he administers the estate for the Courts of Session, 
mias don’t look sharp about it, he’ll be administering 
u. It’s a fine property in its way, and a pity that 
'd go into Leslie’s hands, l hat’s what I say — a 
-conscience than a herring.” 

dig?” asked the stranger, abruptly, turning 


ih 

man 
” Ai 

to Nixon 
‘‘ 1 am.’ 

” Have yoc 
“No.” 

“All right. 1 
” 1 don’t mind it 
the bridge and into R 


>reV’ 


Will we try our luck together?’" 
Xixon; and the coach rolled over 


Cili. 

usher's t. 


Rridge in the di- 
ll is search tor 
ent House, 
' he was 


d. 

piqu 
val he 
w-as one 
which was 
be had only 
wheie there Wv 
among a good ma 
a fair stand, and to 
had started with him 
never came. His early . 

2 


si mi- 
's dis- 
'th- 
s 


k L’’snER looked regretfully 
♦ lie train in which his frien^ 

-> was sorry all the way 
"en a little long inside t^ 
into his gown and teli. 

1 oseph had departed. At > 

•ith a little contempt. He 
cs an act of simple cowait* 

• Joseph was gone there wa. 
roaches to Mina Durie. L. 

^alue on the attainment of 
h difficulty. So far as he ha 
dties to overcome them. At , 
uy yearly thousands to distribu 
dreds, he had contrived to make 
heard when companions who 
id waiting for the day wdiicii 
it w'as only genteel poverty 


34 


CRADLE AIs^D SPADE. 


as yet, bad given him rattier a truculent point of view from wbicb 
tc regard things in general. The world, be felt, was made for him, 
and its good things all lying in wait for bis enjoyment. He was 
willing to slowly work bis way to the position in which he lboug,dt 
he could have and hold tlie prize; for he had unbounded confidehCB . 
in himself, justified by the effect some of his dashing speeches had 
already produced upon juries. It was a sign of his self-assurance 
that he had gone into a house and furnished it, and begun to dis- 
pense hospitalities which as yet he was unable to pay for. His 
father, being a Custom House officer on some remote coast, was 
not able to send him the monthly check on which so many of his 
intimate friends survived. But though he had begun to live be- 
yond his means, he had the appearance of success written on his 
face, and his tradespeople were not anxious. He was not the least 
anxious himself, bui showed the dashing front and slightly loud 
demeanor of a man who was rising, who meant to rise, and who had 
no doubts about his ultimate elevation. It had been an immense 
surprise to him vvhen, some months before, it was whispered about 
that Mina Duiie and Joseph Nixon were engaged. He had been 
in the habit of seeing a good deal of the sheriff’s ward at Durie 
Den and in bouses in town. He knew that she caied for Joseph, 
he Ihongbt it w as in the same way as he cared— wntii a kind of 
affectionate patronage, as if he were a mastiff or a retriever, who 
might be pelted or snubbed without reference to bis feelings. !3o 
secure had he been in his own sense of pooscesion of the girllhat he 
had been in no great hurry to tell her how often he pictured her to 
himself as the mistress of his household; he had gone on minking 
of Joseph as the mastiff, and lo! the dog had served him a tiick 
which he saw no present way of turning tc that animal’s disadvan- - 
tage. At all events, Joseph being gone to the diggings, he was in % 
favorable position for turning the situation. Mina should see a 
good deal of him now; the sheriff was his very good friend; any- - 
thing might happen to reverse the decision of a piemature flirta- ' 
tiou. Dshei s house, midway betw'een the east and n^dst end of 
Edinburgh, w'as visited the same evening by a hale, grjnteel man of 
middle age, whe was shown into the crowded. sJudy of the advo- ^ 
cate. 

“ Ah, Porteous, how d’ye do?” said the advocate rising from his 
desk; ” 1 hope you’re bringing grist to the mill. How’ can 1 ad- 
vise you? hat is it f-’*. 

The visitor w'as a stock-broker, and bad the air of subdued opu- 
lence which belongs to a man, m)t himself rich, but dealing with 


r 


A 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


;35 


the material out of which riches are created. Mr. Porteoiis was not 
one of the tribe of fussy plungers w’ho swallow up the earnings of 
the injudicious middle-classes; he operated for the most part with 
the surplus of retired officers, Indian civilians, old ladies, and such 
like, and had the reputation of being a safe and prudent man, who 
larely made losses. Usher was glad to see him in his study, fcr 
his financial clients belonged to a class who, to relieve the tedium 
of existence, often quarreled and brought their quarrels into court, 
whence came briefs. 

“ What do you think o’ that?” asked the stock-brcker without 
further ado, taking from his w^aistcoat pocket a small parcel and 
untclding it. 

Usher looked into the tissue-paper which, inside a cotton rag, 
contained a handful of yellow grains. 

” Is it a retainer, Porteous? Guineas in the raw? Let me hear 
all about it.” 

Porteous handed him a letter in reply to nis query, and Usher 
read: — 

“ There is no doubt about the existence of gold in the valley of 
the Rudder. The question is, in what quantities may w'e exnp<?‘ 
to find it? The accompanying parcel of gold wa« brought to me 
by one of my own shepherds from Cnoo Ghu, whoso daughter 
washed it out of a brook at the side of their shieling. 1 did my 
best to keep the discovery from being noised abroad, but I was fool- 
ish enough to give the man a sovereign for the dust he brought 
nte.” ( ‘ 1 should say,” murmured Usher, ” that the man had very 
flecidedly the worst of the bargain.”) ‘‘ lie show'ed the sovereign 
to his daughter, and she told an old woman who keeps a small 
‘ liowff,’ and in a few days the whole neighborhood was out about, 
digging and hammering. X can not say that they have been suc- 
cessful in obtaining gold. And X have to add that a skilled geolo- 
gist, who has read papers before the British Association, dined with 
me the ether day, and he gives it as his opinion, formed upon an 
intimate acquaintanceship with the formation of the rocks of the 
valley of the Rudder, that gold can only occur in what he calls 
‘infinitesimal quantities.’ Still he is only a geclogist and not a 
practical man, and his opinion need not be accepted as final. There 
may be more gold than ho supposes, and, at all events, there is 
certainly enough for the purpose which 1 entertain in connection 
with It. As you are aware, the lands of Ruddersdalc, from Cnoc 
Dhu to the sea, may soon pass from my control. They may be 


36 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 



administered by some one vested at the Parliament House, xvork-'^ 
ing for the Crown. 1 consider myself very shabbily treated, with 
that contingency Lekl up before me, and 1 believe that ihe present J 
is an opportunity fairly presented to me in which 1 may recoup my- 
self for many arduous services, never likely to be otherwise re- : 
warded. And what 1 propose to you, my friend, is this. Whether 
there be gold on the Rudder or not, there is the reputation of gold, 
which in your way of life is as good. Now 1 have it in my power , 
to allot ground for digging and sinking shafts either tc individuals 
or to a company, and it you can make up a small directorate and 
get the enterprise launched upon the Exchange, we will find as 
much gold as will satisfy any reasonable bcdy of sirarehclders for - 
a tew months.” (” For a few months,” murmured Usher, scruli- ■ 
nizing his friend keenly. ‘‘That is very delicate. A good man, 
Mr. Leslie. An admirable, good man.”) ” When the supply of 
gold comes to an end the power of working the mine will have 
passed to some other body.” 


“ And that is tlie great Leslie’s opinion of his duty in the present 
emergency of a discover)'' of gold,” said Usher. ‘‘ How' do you 
know",” he asked abruptly, *‘ that this stufl ever came out of the 
Rudocr at all? He is evidently prepared to go great lengths for his 
company.” 

“ Here is a paper published up In those regions. It gives a full 
account of an interview with the shepherd— a plain, unvarnished 
tale. Usher. There is no doubt about the precious metal. 1 believe 
in it, and 1 mean to have it on ’Change.” 


‘‘Then you have a faith in the simple credulity of your coun- 
trymen which history and experience have not taught me to expect. 
You may as well promise them diamonds. Y'ou couldn’t draw a 
prospectus that wouldn’t glitter so confoundedly that every investor 
north of the Tweed would be pelting it with proverbs as he proceed^ 
ed to button up his breeches’ pocket.” 

” This is an international age.” 

” You are becoming profound, Porteous. What are you driving 
at?” 


‘‘There are investors beyond the Tweed and Exchanges out of 
the empire. 1 am looking ahead. This precious mine may not be 
to the mind of our countrymen. Very well, there is the Bourse in 
Paris, and a great deal of romantic expectation always hovering 
about it. If we can’t get our mine to go in our owm Exchanges we 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


37 


shall carry it to Paris. You beain to sec why 1 have called on 
you.” 

” Not as yet, unless it is that you mean to allot me the law busi- 
ness of the company when it is started. Judging from the tone and 
intention of this letter, 1 should say that there is likely to be a good 
deal of law wanted. And,” he added slowly, ‘‘1 think the man 
who acts toi the other side will have the best cause to plead.” 


CHAPTER VIE 

A LITTLE OBTUSE. 

‘‘You are rather hasty about it.” said Poiteous after a pause. 
” You know 1 have a reputation to keep up for safety and solidity. 
Now, 1 can’t afford to put a ‘ salted ’ mine on the market, if that 
is what you suspect. 1 have rather overdone my caution, however, 
and find that 1 am getting voted slow and old-fashioned. 1 can 
stand this gold-mine episode, therefore, even if it don’t turn out 
El Dorado. Now, my dear sir, draw us out a nice, catching pros- 
pectus - a something that will appeal to sensible men, you under- 
stand — holding Dut moderate prospects of dividend. Let there be 
no blarney in it, but make it, as you know very well how— make 
it an attractive statement of the prospects of the company, based 
upon the finds of gold already made. You may announce that a 
thousand pounds’ w’orth of gold has been washed out of the alluvi- 
um of the Rudder before the prospectus has been issued. Here is 
a chart of the locality. That’s the lie of the river and the land; 
there are the mountains. Shafts may be sunk anywhere between 
Ruddersdale and Cnoc Dhu.” 

‘‘But in a short time this will become Crown property, if Sir 
Thomas Dunbeath doesn’t make his appearance. It seems to me 
Leslie will only hurry up his own dismissal, if there really be gold. 
It looks like putting a hand on the regalia.” 

” It would if the compan}^ didn’t pay the estate well for w’oiking 
its supposititious minerals. But the right will be well paid for, and 
can be regarded as rent iust as much as one of the sheep-farms.” 

” Well?” 

‘‘You are a little obtuse. Usher, for so sharp a man. W hat are 
you waiting for? What are you balancing in your mind?” 

‘‘1 have not done this sort of work before. It goes a little 
against the grain. 1 shall be a judge one day, and there must be 


38 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


no blot on my escutcheon. Perhaps 1 have no very large admira- 
tion for virtue in the abstract. It’s inconvenient to a man cf taste. 
Its laws rasp the ankles and the wiists like the gyves of a jailer. 
But virtue in rny line is a mode of promotion, and 1 must hesi- 
tate before 1 put my band to anything which might serve to com- 
promise me.” 

” 1 have a reputation, too, 1 hope,” said Porteoirs, testily, ” and 
what would inconvenience yon would ruin me. My dear sir, if you 
have any question of conscience, 1 need only pul these proposals 
in my pocket and carry them across the street to you know who? 
1 hope his reputation is up to the mark?” 

•• Stop; don’t be in such a hurry. Lay down your chart of the 
district, and give me a day or two to decide over this business. 1 
mustn’t put in too many nuggets, 1 suppose,” ho added, shaking 
hands with his visitor at the dooi. 


CHAPTER Vlll. 

PROSPECTING. 

As the mail-coach drew up at the Duke’s Arms, Ruddersdale, 
Nixon’s long-nosed friend handed down his cradle and his baggage 
and waited. 

” We don’t go in here,” he said, looking defiantly at a stout inn- 
keeper, wearing a white hat, who seemed to expect a visit from 
them. ” Men who come to dig can’t afford that style. Dear beds, 
dear mutton, dear liquor, and a shedaing of shillings that would 
soon leave our purses — mine, anyhow— as empty as a last year’s 
swallow’s nest.” 

” And mine, too,” said Nixon, standing over his rubber canoe 
and his portmanteau. ‘‘1 think there must be something nearer 
our style along the shore.” 

Mr. Laggan, the guard, came round on them for the shillings 
which were not included in the fare, and whispered that there was 
a Nancy Harper’s, about a couple of hundred yards off the square; 
not a great house, by any means, but clean and tidy, and moderate. 
It they went out cf the square at the corner of Mr. Leslie’s bank, 
down by the thatches, they would see Nancy’s sign swinging in 
the wind, “ and just mention, quietly, that he, Mr. Laggan, had 
sent them.” 

‘’Here, lad!” called cut the stranger to a boy with a barrow, 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


39 


“ lift in these shovels, and that box, and that, and that, and that, 
and go down the square, at the corner of the hank, to Kancy Har- 
per’s.” 

The coach drove into a yard behind the Duke’s Arms. The land- 
lord stood with an expression of contempt on his face as he saw the 
direction the baggage of the pair was taking, and from an upper 
window looking on the square, some highly hushed faces appeared 
on the scene, amidst laughter, and a voice called out — 

” iSew chums, by Jove!” 

” There’s an old digger up there,” said Nixon’s new friend, as 
the barrow, preceding them, passed the corner of the bank, and 
made for the swinging sign of Nancy Harper. 

Nancy had not expected anybody by the coach, lor she was not 
at her whitewashed step watching. She had to be called out from 
her bar, a little room with a mysterious door, and a slil of a win- 
dow looking out upon a werl- darkened passage. She did the hon- 
ors of reception very well, however, when she made her appearance, 
and she smiled benevolently when she was told that her visitors had 
come to the diggings. 

” Weel, weel!” said Nancy, showing them into her coffee-room, 
which was a spacious kitchen, with a stone floor and a vast fire 
blazing on the hearth; “ ye micht be doin’ waur than trying j'our 
luck. But I’m no for believin’ in the goold myself. It wadna 
have been lying there a’ this time — we’re unco’ fond c’ the goold 
in Ruddersdale, and there’s teen guid een at Cnoc Dhu ere ever 
Glitter Gun and his wife and Elspeth began lookin' at the burns. 
Truly, gentlemen, if you’ll believe me, you’ll take your spades to 
my back-garden and dig tor worms, and get two or three dizzen 
red-trout to yourselves; it’ll pay you better, and the work’s not so 
hard.” 

‘‘ What d(» you think?” asked the stranger of a bowed man, lean- 
ing, with a shawl about him, toward the hearth. 

” He’s deef,” said Nancy; ” he’s asking yxu what do you think 
about the goold?” 

” Filthy lucre!” said the old man, wiping his parched lips with 
his tongue, and looking with watery eyes toward a bottle which 
Nancy laid on the table; V the root of all evil.” 

” You keep ymur own moralist, Mrs, Harper,” observed Nixon. 

” I keep my feyther!” she said abruptly, removing halt a dozen 
chops from the tire and tumbling them precipitately upon an 
” ashet.” ” Now fa’ to, and if ye maun dig, gang at it wi’ some- 
thing in your insides. I’ve nae doot, if ye tak’ your sj^ades to the 


40 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


sea-shore you’ll get a big hole to yourselves, and nobody \^in inter- 
fere wi' you. It’ll do ye good, maybe; there’s a braw fine wind 
comes in from the Firlii. Coming— coming.” 

AndINancy disappeared to the slit in the wall, where she was 
being solicited for drams by some fishermen from the shore. 

“She’s a shrewd woman,” said the stranger; “but, 1 say, if 
we’re going to chum, it’s about time we exchanged cards. What’s 
your name? ’ 

“ I didn’t think of that,” said I^ixon. “ What would you ad- 
vise? What would be a good mining name?” 

The stranger looked suspiciously at him, as it he were suddenly 
revealed as an escaped convict. 

“ Well, I’ve mined extensively, as I’ve told you, beneath the 
Southern Cross, at many difierent points and among numerous 
different companies; but I’ve always mined as the same man. I’m 
not ashamed to be myself. 1 thought from the color of yout eyes, 
and the expression of your face, that neither would you. 1 am 
John Russell, miner.” 

“ And 1 am Joseph Nixon, miner also.” 

“ Very good then, Nixon. Let’s light up, and see what is to be 
seen.” 

“ And heard,” said Ni.xon, lifting a bit of hot peat in the tongs 
and applying it to the bowl of his pipe. They had not far to go to 
the shore. The basin of the harbor opened at their feet, and her- 
ring-boats rocked their masts toward each other, as the heave of 
the sea insinuated itself from without. On the quay there was 
nothing more enlivening to be seen than a. few creels and barrels; 
but from the end of it they saw up Ruddetsdale to the overhanging 
forest of ashes and firs, and heard the bell toll in the steeple at the 
head of the square, and watched the starlings wheel round it. The 
shore-line beyond Ruddersdale was visible, too, whitened by surf 
all the way to the mountainous precipices of Cnoc; and it was a 
relief to turn from them to the quiet meandering of the Rudder, 
issuing slow and deep from beneath its bridge to join the deep sea. 
Nixon leaned, very silent, on the keel of an upturned boat and 
looked dreamily over the sea. He had done, in his lime, a good 
deal of manual labor; but it was of that description which falls 
under the head of amusement. He had rcwed, wrestled, shot, 
fished, golfed, run, and boxed— all forms of hard work; but it had 
only been in response to the call of his muscular system. He had 
not needed to work. Now, however, he w^as face to face with 
necessity, and the corr. pulsion which was sending him to handle the 


CRADLE ARTD SPADE. 


41 


spade and the pickax saddened him a liitle. His new friend was 
looking into all the rriysteries of the quay, and exchanging senti- 
ments with a sou’-wester which showed itself aft of a heiring-boat. 
The sou’-wester was skeptical about gold. His lads had got none, 
anyhow. He knew only of about five pounds’ worth being got al- 
together. He was a deep man, Mr. Leslie, l^ixon heard him 
utter these remarks, and the desolation of his own circumstances 
seemed to stand out clear before him in the light of them. What 
if he dug and failed? He could not return to Sheriff Durie and 
say to him: 

“ 1 have done my best. 1 have tried to fill my pockets so as to 
hold out in my search for Mina’s father. But there has been no 
treasure for me in the valley of the Rudder. 1 have found nothing. 
1 have learned nothing. Is'ow, give me Mina.” 

‘‘ Nixon,” said Russell, returning from his conversation, ” they 
don’t much believe in it, the old ones. Suppose we go up the river 
a bit and form a judgment. 1 rather think 1 can spot a rich patch 
with any man. As yet there are few knowing hands arrived. 
They won’t be long, though. If they have the fever in their veins 
as 1 begin to experience it. they will be down here in hundreds,” 

‘‘I’ll go back for mv canoe.” 

” And in the meantime 1 shall interview Leslie. Meet me at the 
bridge.” 

Nixon got his canoe and stood with it at the bridge for the better 
part of an hour. Then, Russell showing no sign of appearing, he 
went down and launched himself into the center of the stream, 
There was something of the Indian in him, he felt, as he threw 
aside the water with his paddle and shot irp the Rudder. Above 
the bridge there was a low range of blasted rocks, from which the 
stones of the town had probablv been taken when it was built. 
The water rushed through them deep and rapid, but he soon pushed 
his canoe through the stone gate and got behind the town, where 
the ridges of the river were brown with heath. He saw some of 
the good people digging, exactly as they might have searched for 
worms, and they stopped to shade their e 3 ’es, and look at him as he 
sped rapidly b^. Some of the bow-legged little boys tossed their 
caps in the air and cheered him It w^as evident that they regarded 
him as part of the new world of wonder opened up 'n these recent 
weeks by the rumor of geld. On the water Nixon recovered his 
spirits with the use of his arm. The lost sense of personal power 
came back to him, and as he drove up rapids and circled whirl- 
l)Ools and crossed tranquil long pools, the inward vi,3ta of mountains 


42 


CRADLE AisD SPADE. 


becoming clear to his eye, he thoroughly recovered himselt. There 
might indeed be no gold beyond these waters, but what a heaven 
hung over them 1 what a joyous bleating of young lambs was going _ 
on b'eside them! what a calling of bird to bird flying on the wing! 
The further he .paddled, however, the more frequently ho passed 
long strands of shingle and sand, strands where thesand-pipers were 
calling just now, but where as yet no digger had inserted an ex- 
perimental spade. On the whole, he considered theie was some 
hope, and ho returned late to Nancy Harper’s with a hopeful ex- 
pression on his face. 

“ VVeel, sir.” inquired that gray dame, ‘‘ have you no’ a nieve 
fu’ o’ siller ta give me? No? An’ you sc far up the Rudder as 
that!— 1 canna’ believe ye, wiien ye tell me ye got ten miles up. 
Ye would see Cnoc Dhu; was there any mist on its top? Sirs. I’ll 
give ye a kipper to your supper. Mr. Russell’s ta'en a room up- 
stairs. He’s there it ye want to find him.” 

Nixon w’tnt upstairs and found his friend in his shirt sleeves, 
scouring a perforated sheet of iron in the end of his cradle. His 
implements were all unloosened, and picks and shovels lay about 
the floor. He looked up rather doubtfully from his werk as Joseph 
entered, and made a poor effort to talk with his pipe between his 
teeth. 

“I’ve had the big man here,” he said, “and he’s been good 
enough to inspect all my mining material.” 

“ You mean Leslie?” 

“ Yes, and he’s made me a proposal. He believes in the gold, 
and he’s going to work the stream with a company. He says what 
1 believe is very true, that, in the course of a few w eeks, Buddersdalo 
will be full of skilled miners. Well, he wants me to pick them as 
they come in, and begin sinking shafts, and he’ll pay us fair wages. 
W hat d’ye think?” 

“ I’ll work for wages if it must be; but I’d rather dig on my 
own account.” 

“ Nixon, I’m obliged to say it to you: but if Joseph Nixon be 
your name, it’s a misfortune to you. What have you done? 
Don’t mind me. 1 know all sorts. I’ve herded with cut-thioats 
and cut-purses, and know enough of life to know that they aren’t 
the worst kind of fellows. What have you done to make an old 
lawyer like Leslie put his hand to his brow when 1 mention the 
name of Joseph Nixon, and ask for leave for him to ridule the 
waste dirt between this and Cnoc Dhu— put his hand to his brow, 
and look as if he were going off in a dead faint? The apparitiou 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


4o 


of Ihe devil couldn’t have disturbed the man more than the name 
of Joseph Nixon. "You had some reason, then, for concealing youi 
real name?” 

” 1 know nothing of him, except what we heard from the guard. 
It could hardly be my name that made him squeamish.” 

” It was, though; and he stood up against lliat mantel-piece, the 
beads of perspiration coming out of his brow, and his jaws getting 
jaundiced with terror. ‘ What is this Nixon you want a permit 
for?’ he asked, when he had recovered the use of his voice. ‘ Is 
he a lawyer?’ To which 1 replied, feeling very sure that 1 was in 
the right for once: ‘No, he’s no lawyer; he’s just a very good 
fellow, who has come along with me to dig for gold.’ So there’s 
your permit, Nixon, and you may thank me for getting it.” 

‘‘ 1 don’t understand it,” said Nixon. ”1 am, or rather w’as, 
a lawyer. But 1 never had dealings with Leslie. Are you per- 
fectly sure it was my name w’hich affected him?” 

“Then there’s some mystery about you, after all! 1 thought 
your hands were deuced unlike a minei’s. I’m as sure as 1 am of 
my own cradle that when Leslie signed that permit, and wrote the 
name of Joseph Nixon, he trembled from top to toe. Look at the 
w-riting yourself.” 

” Oh, writing’s no lest of anything. I’ve seen the coolest hands 
sprawl, and the most nervous ones write copper-plate. It's only a 
trick of the muscles of the fingers, and isn’t connected with a 
man’s nature at all.” 

” Perhaps he’s a relation of yours,” said the miner, polishing 
the rust off the face of a spade. 

” 1 have no relations,” said Nixon, painfully. 

” Thai’s too good to be true. 1 never heard of a man so pleas- 
antly situated.” 

‘‘If you had my experience you w^ouldn’t think so.” 

‘‘ Well, you may take my word for it that this Leslie hasn’t 
heard of you for ihe first time.” 

Nixon was silent for a long time; then he took off his coat and 
helped his friend at his scouring. 

CHAPTER IX. 

GOLFING. 

” Mina is visiting at Merchislon, Usher, this afternoon. If you 
have nothing better to do you might come round the Brunlsfield 
Links with me in a friendly match. The ground should be in 


44 


CKADLE AXD SPADE. 


I 

■j . 

excellent condition; there has been a high, dry north wind blow- 
ing over it for the last three days. 1 feel in a mood for handling 
the club and the cleek. She knows 1 am going over the course, 
and will probably join us in the afternoon. Afterward you might 
drive round with us and dine.’' 

So spoke Sheriff Etprie to Advocate Usher i n the hall of justice, 
and the latter being only too anxious to see Mina Durie, and the 
aspect she presented in the absence of JSixon, closed with the pro- 
posal at once. 

“ Thank you, sheriff; there is no particular reason why 1 should 
be here any more than on the Bruntsfield Links. My work is done; 
but though 1 know J shall only match my club against yours to get 
a licking, 1 shall do my best.” 

” I’m not so sure about the licking. Usher. Certainly, 1 have 
the advantage of you in long practice, but to-day we start so far 
equal, that neither of us has had a club in hand all winter.” 

There was no one on the links when the pair reached the green 
upland, except a few servant-maids in a corner beating carpets. 

” 1 suppose your clubs are in the club-house,” said the sheriff. 

” 1 play with Nixon’s set,” said Usher. ” He had them specially 
made for himself, if you remember. He had strong views about 
the shaft of his ciuh, and wouldn’t touch a ball with hickory to 
save his life. He had no belief in hickory, and 1 defy any one to 
say what sort of wood he halt put into them.” 

‘‘ You are playing Nixon’s game in his absence?” inquired the 
sheriff, with the faintest accent of suspicion, and with a decided 
diminution of cordiality in his tone. 

” My own game, with Nixon's clubs.” 

” Ah! very good; 1 dare say we shall find a couple cf caddies 
outside to carry our things.” 

They found half a score of ” caddies ” only too willing to go 
round the links with them, and with the undiminished north wind 
still sweeping across the field, they started for the first hole, the 
sheriff looking very determined and sportsmanlike in his red coat; 
Usher, not equipped in the same way, feeling rather nervous at his 
approaching meeting with Mina. To the sheriff, golf was one of 
the choicest delights in life. It was one of the things he could do 
thoroughly well. He rarely met an opponent on any breadth of 
downs who could come near him in holing. It was one of the con- 
solations he had tor being a decidedly poor judge, for it must be 
said of him, in his official capacity, that he held his place in virtue 
of being a very gentlemanly man, agreeably known to the influen- 


CKADLE AJsD SPADE, 


45 


tial persons tv'lio made such appointments as his. Everybody knew 
that his substitute iu the remote county of which he had the juris- 
diction understood law a great deal better than himself; but they 
also knew that Sherifl Duiie had a lively conviction of that fact, 
on which circumstance there was a guarantee for the course of 
justice running smoothly. 

“ 1 Care say,” said the sheriff, the wind bfow ing his silky beard 
about his face, ” Mma will see us from the window of the house 
she has called at. Ah! yes; there she is, waving her hand. You 
see her? I say to be sure, what a furious blast of wind! Phew! 
How ycur hat spins along!” 

The wind had indeed lifted L'sher’s hat, and blcwn it as high as 
a respectable kite might ascend, and it was at that moment bowl- 
ing it along the links at the rate of ten miles an hour. Half a dozen 
caddies set out after it; Mina and her friends crowded to their \via» 
dew to see the eccentric behavior of it. Usher stood, with a vacant 
expression of amused genialit}^ on his face, until the hat was re- 
stored; then the sheriff, having ” tee’d ” his ball, stretched him- 
self, looked into the distance, shouted ‘‘ Tore ” to a man with a 
basket on his head, who stood in the way to examine him, hit off 
with a resounding whack, and the game began. The white ball 
went high in the air, and Usher locking at it said: 

” Well, for the first drive of the year, sheriff, 1 call that mag- 
nificent!” 

” It’s pretty fair, 1 think,” said the sheriff, inwardly wishing 
that there had been more spectators than the caddies to see how it 
was done. Usher then tee’d his ball, raised his club, but instead 
of lifting it into the air, he threw up a cloud of turf round it, the 
ball awkwardly rolling off to a neighboring sand-hole. 

” Give me hickory,” cried the sheriff, walking away with his 
admiring caddy behiml him, as he left Usher to fish up his ball 
with a cleek, the party in the window looking on with apparent 
delight at the advocate’s confusion. He was still laboring away at 
the bunker when his opponent had noled his ball down the links. 
He was dismally engaged there when Mina Durie rejoined him. 

” You have 'been very unfortunate,” said the sheriff’s ward, 

‘‘ just at the outset to find yourself iu a hunker. Papa always lias 
all the luck on his side, and beats everybody. It was bold of you, 
wasn’t it, to accept his challenge?’ 

” It would have been, if 1 had been fool enough to tliink myself 
a match for him,” said Usher, throwing up his ball, with a pleuii- 


46 


CKADLE AI^D SPADE. 


ful accompaniment ot sand, and following it for a stroke m the 

direction of the sheriff. , ^ tt i 

Mina’s feet and ankles were uncovered by the blast, and Usher 

could not heln noticing how pretUy molded they were. The girl 
seemed to be aware that the wind was revealing more of her beauty 
than she cared to discover. She strove to conceal her ankles, and 
commenced to walk o^in the sheriff’s direction-a movement which 
had the effect of rousing Usher tc the necessity of making a bold 
stroke with his club. ! 

“ ’Fore! Miss Durie.” he called out, and she stepped aside till j 
^he had delivered his blow, when he joined her. “ I am playing,’' 
he said, “ with Nixon’s clubs. You know, 1 suppose, that he has 
given up all these vanities, and has taken himself off — heaven only 
knows where?” 

” But you are his friend, are you not? You know where he has 
gone, and why?” 

She questioned him with so obvious an anxiety for the absent 
Nixon that he realized, not without discomfort to his vanity, that 
she had probably joined him on the links to discuss him. 

‘‘ Joseph is wild,” he said; ‘‘ he won’t tame. He hates restraint. 
He was made for an open-air life— for mountaineering and that 
sort ot thing; a kind ot good wild animal; and I’ve no doubt he 
will be very much happier adopting a vagabond life than pacing 
the Parliament House. He really never would have done anything 
there worth speaking about.” 

” i suppose it is easy to be philosophical about one’s neighbors’ 
rnisfortunes,” said Mina. 

” He hasn’t shown yet whether it is to be a misfortune. How 
can you tell?” 

“You must know that it is a misfortune for me, Mr. Usher — the 
greatest — one ot the greatest— trials 1 have been called to endure.”' 

‘‘Come alocig, come along!” shouted the sheriff, standing im- 
patiently at his hole, which he had taken in three shots, while his 
opponent had numbered eight. “Mina,” he added, ‘‘I’m not at 
all certain that you improve the game with your presenc(3.” 

‘‘ Shall 1 go away, then?” she asked, decidedly offended at her 
reception, and grateful to Usher who vehemently called out— 

‘‘ Certainly not, my dear Miss Durie.” 

Again 1 call that a magnificent drive,” said Usher, as the sheriff 
started off for the next hole, his ball spinning into space before him. 

Mina stood with Usher, and vratchea his next drive with curi- 




CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


47 


osity. It was a fine strong drive, but the blast caught it, and the 
ball disappeared behind a high wrall. 

“ I’ve lost my hole,” said the advocate. ” Somehow, playing 
with the sherifit seems to put me out. 1 never can do anj^hing, 
and I should very much have liked to show oft a little before you. 
Because I can play at times.” 

‘‘ It is very ingenuous of you to say so. But why, if 1 may go 
back upon what you say of Mr. Kixon, your friend, why do you 
I speak of him so lightly, as a vagabond and what not?” 

‘‘ Because Joe is a vagabond, using the word, of course, in its 
barmless sense. He is, for some reason or other, the most restless 
of men.” 

” For the same reason as 1 am the most restless of women. If, 
Mr. Usher, you did not know, as we do not, where we have come 
from, you would not find life so sure and satisfactory.” 

” It’s enough for me that we all come from the Infinite,” said 
Usher, thinking of the snufty little man who had thrashed him in 
his boyhood, and to whom he owed the debt of paternity. 

” So, 1 suppose, does this north wind which is blowing on us, 

I but really to me that is not the slightest consolation. What may 
not one have lost in being thrown upon the world without kuowl- 
j edge of one’s parents!” 

' ‘‘Ah! well, from that point of view, there is something to be 

said fora father and mother. What one may have lost — estates, 
perhaps a kingdom, august relatives —who knows?” 

” 1 didn’t mean that. 1 meant, how much of early affection, 
how much of tenderest association to warm our hearts with, as life 
goes by.” 

I ‘‘ Well, talking of Nixon, 1 should say that he is no worse oft 
than scores and hundreils and thousands of people who have been 
orphaned in early youth, or even born posthumous.” 

‘‘ Fes, but they know. Nixon does not. 1 do not. And the re- 
sult is a perpetual unsatisfied hunger to be told— just to have one 
little word flung us.” 

‘‘ From the Infinite?” 

“ From anywhere. One little word to say, ‘ You are So-and-so, 
and Such-and-such.’ ” 

‘* Perhaps it would not be so amusing for Nixon, if he really 
knew. For you— if 1 may allude to a subject that I know must bo 
painful to you — for you it would be important. But, in the mean- 
time, is not Sheriff Durie father enough, and does he not satisfy all 
the unsatisfied yearnings by his kindness of heart? Ties—” 


48 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Come along! come along!” shouted the sheriff, starting for (fc 
new hole at the end of the links, as he observed that Usher had 
practically abandoned the game, and, with his club on his shoulder, 
seemed to be lecturing his ward in an instructive bar manner. 

“ Papa is calling,” said Mina, and Usher, taking a fresh ball 
from his pocket, renewed the game. 

“ You wili excuse me for saying it. Usher, but 1 feel as if 1 was 
playing whist with a dummy. You are not exerting yourself; yoa 
are letting the game go. Mina, I’m bound to say that 1 think your 
appearance on the field has put him out. You are making him 
talk when he should be otherwise engaged. He threw that ball 
away simply because he was listening to you instead of calculating 
the force of the wind.” 

” Well, papa, dear, 1 shall go back to my friends,” said Mina; 
‘‘ but there is Omond with the carriage already,” she added, ” in 
front of the river.” 

‘‘ Omond must just cool his heels on his box, then, till we have 
played one round of the links. 1 am in brilliant condition, I’ve 
come down all this distance in six strokes. JNow, Usher, let me 
see some play, and give me the feeling of the fight.” 

The wind blew more strongly; Mina retired to the carriage, and 
sat in it outside the Bruntsfield Arms; the two men went the round, 
and in three quarters of au hour joined her. 

‘‘Beat him to sticks,” said the sheriff, taking his seat, while 
Usher paid the caddies and carried in the clubs to the house. 
‘‘ Briefs are decidedly more im Frank’s line than play,” remarked 
the sheriff in his absence, ‘‘ though 1 have seen him do better than 
he has done to-day. Tell him to go round home by Donaldson’s 
Hospital, will you, Usher, if you please? You can slay all night, 
of course.” 

‘‘I’ve made no arrangements for it. Never brought a bag or 
anything.” 

‘‘ Oh, you can have one of my night-shirts, and I dare say my 
feet are no neater than yours— a pair of my slippers will fit you 1 
expect It will be a boisterous night to return in. 1 will let you have 
the carriage in the morning.” 

Usher looked at Mina as it he expected the invitation to be 
emphasized. She said nothing, however, and her silence decided 
him. Yes, he would go out to Duiie Den, and stay till next day. 
He would not want the carriage in the morning. He needed just 
such a walk to brace him up for his work, of which lie had a sufli- 
cient quantity in hand. Mina heard his intention without the least 


CKADLE AXD SPADE. 


40 


alleralion of demeanor; she sighed, however, as the horses trotted 
off, to think that the sheriff had never asked Joseph to stay all 
night when he came out to see them. It was a pleasant room to 
dine in— the sheriff’s; the lights were so well subdued, the log on 
the hearth was sc resinous, and crackled and blazed so cheerily; 
the dinners were so unostentatious, yet so sound and eood in every 
detail, and the sheriff’s father looked out of his oil portrait on the 
table with so jovial a recognition of guests. Usher fell that to be 
in that dining-room, helped by the light of Mina’s eyes, and eu- 
y '^couraged by the sheriff’s cheery voice, was indeed to be in a good 
place. He found himself talking brilliantly among the silver can- 
dlesticks, about all sorts ot subjects, from the discovery of gold 
among the northern mountains, to the quality ot the last joke ut- 
tered from the Inner House. The sheriff did not believe in b'cotcli 
gold, nor did Mina, nor did Usher, in his heart of hearts; but he 
believed in it tor argument’s sake, and he argued elaborately, hav- 
ing fortified himself a night or two earlier with all the information 
about gold contained in a tattered “Encyclopaedia Brilaanica 
w^hich he had picked up cheap in a shop on the Mound. 

“ It’s a singular thing,’’ said the sheriff, “ that ISir Thomas Eun- 
beath’s estate should be the scat of this new excitement. The stupid 
fellow went away, as you know, lor some unexplained reason, about 
eighteen years ago.” 

“ Was the reason unexplained?’’ 

“ Quite, Mina; pass the claret to Frank. 1 must tell you the 
history of that claret by and by. It’s part of a brand purchased 
by a west country iron-master, when he was touring in France. He 
went into a vineyard one day, and, having tasted, asked, ‘ What 
d’ye seK 'that at?’ He was told, and laconically obseived, ‘ Send 
me the year’s growth to the Clyde!’ That’s part of the j'ear’s 
growth; very good, isn’t it? These moneyed fellows are always 
doing sublime things ot that sort. 1 suppose it’s power. Ob ! yes, 
to be sure, we were talking of Sir Thomas Dunbeatli. Do 1 recol- 
lect him? Perfectly. A gentlemanly man, much liked by every- 
body, who pinned bis faith too much to Leslie, in those days ralher 
a younger man he is now. There were rumors— all kind of gossip- 
ing talk about Sir Thomas having contracted this, that, and the 
other secret marriage. In truth, the mysterious disappearance of 
Sir Thomas is still credited to his having been overmuch married, 
in those days of his hot youth. 1 give uo credence to the gossip, 
Mina; you needn’t look so shocked.’’ 

“1 hear some rumors,” said Usher, “of Leslie displeasing the 


50 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


Estates Court with his arbitrary ways, and of some new man being 
appointed to take up bis work at Ruddersdale.” 

'* Impossible!— keep the iron-master’s claret circulating -impoi- 
sible, my dear fellow. Leslie is essential to the district, l^o court 
would dare to supersede him, at least in the present shifty state of 
affairs. The Crown may do what it likes when it gets them, but 
Leslie’s as much a fixture as Cnoc Dhu.” 

“ "What are his views about Sir Ihomas?” 

“ That he will return.” 

“ Does he believe in what gossip says of him and his marriage?’' 

” He thinks there is an heir, if we could only Irace Sir Thomas.” 
The sheriff was eating a bunch of grapes at that moment. IVIina 
rose and left the rcom. Usher leaned across the table with a look 
of uncontrollaole excitement. ” Who,” he asked, ” is Mina Duiie, 
if she be not Mina Dunbeath?” 


CHAPTER X. 

‘‘auld acquaintance.” 

Mr. Leslie, of Ruddersdale, met Oliver Gun at the wooden 
bridge in the ” strath,” and went up the burn with him to the 
shieling. Elspeth pointed out to him where she had collected the 
sand from which the particles were taken. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, that red sky in the merning, which is the shepher’s warning, 
had betokened a storm. Cnoc Dhu sent down his swollen waters 
with a lush, and the ridge which had been left on the banks melted 
away like snow. II was in vain that Mr. Les/.e took up hanuful 
after handful of haid pebbles anil scrutinized them. They were 
the common round pebbles of the Marnock streams, and no sugges- 
tion of ore in them, 

‘‘ Aon,” he said, after a few hours of painful search, ‘‘ yau re- 
marked, with some of that native shrewdness which belongs to you, 
that you never tell a lie except when you can’t help it. Now 
oblige me by saying if you think there has been any necessity fer 
telling a lie on the present occasion. We understand each other, 1 
think. Has there been any lie about this uold? Did those grains 
you brought me come out of this stream?” 

” 1 can assure you, sir, that every grain of them came out of the 
burn. Elspeth lias the bottom of the snufit-box filled with them 
again, hut she has to be very cautious wilh her mother — ” 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


51 


-Ay?” 

” Her mother has a great aversion to the gckl; she says that it’s 
not canny, and no good can ever come of it.” 

‘‘ Maybe her mother’s not so far wrong. What do you want gold 
for on the side of Cnoc Hhu? You can get as much ‘ braxy ’ as 
you like without it. li’s us of the town who need the gold, not 
you. But just tell Elspeth to bring me that snufl-box, will 3"ou?”' 

The box was brought him, and there was no doubt about the 
contents. The particles were perfectly pure. 

” Your wife doesn’t like it. Gun; here’s a crisp, new pound note 
to you. Give me these grains.” 

The shepherd was overpowered with gratitude. 

” I’ll be coming into the town to live,” he said, ” it I’m going 
to pick up money so fast.” 

Mr. Leslie gave him a sharp, suspicious look. ‘‘ You fool!” he 
said, ” are you not very well off where you are? Your wife has 
more sense in her little finger than there is in your whole body. A 
little gold soon turns your head. What would you do coming into 
town?” 

‘‘Elspeth’s getting to be a young woman, now,” he replied^ 
” and she likes to be in the town, whiles.” 

“Let me hear no more of this,” said Mr. Leslie, with a harsh- 
ness in the intonation of his voice which made the shepherd start 
where he stood. 

Nothing more was said on the subject, and the factor, having 
taken tea in the shieling, went back to the bridge, w'here his horse 
was fettered, and returned to Ruddersdale. 

. Some nights afterward he sat in his dining-room, which over- 
looked ihe square, his table covered with papers. Mr. Leslie’s 
dining room w'as spacious, a window at either end of it, well cur- 
tained; the furniture upon the most massive scale, as it it w^ert 
made for perpetuil}', and the lights dim. He had never consentea 
togas being introduced into the town, and Mr. Leslie’s room was 
more dim than religious in its lighting. In his dining-room above 
the bank he was waiting lor a visitor. While he waited, he turned 
occasionally the leaf of a letter, and lifted his head from its perusal 
with a jerk, as if he were stung. The letter annoyed him; and 
though he had eaten and drunk, as he usually did, till his stomach 
W'as loaded and his brain spun with wine, he could not command 
the drow'siness which so often relieved him. The letter ran t 

” JMy deak Leslie,— a suggestion has been made to me by one 
of the most promising advocates, during a private couversaliou. 


52 


CEADLE AXD SPADE. 


that compels me to ask you one or two questions. We were dis- 
cussing Unoc Dliu and the rumors of gold and the prospect of a 
new industry being established at your door. Sir Thomas Dun- 
heath’s name naturally came up, and 1 described his character to 
my friend, the advocate. Putting matters together, he suddenly 
startled me by the question— ‘ AV ho is Mina Durie, it she be not 
Mina Duubeath?’ It is many years now since 1 have given up 
thinking who Mina is. It is enough for me that she is the liglit 
of my life, that she has grown up at my fireside since first 1 took 
charge of her, shedding upon my home every gracious influence. 
But 1 owe her so much that 1 live in dread of doing her an in- 
justice. If by any chance the cloud which obscures her birth 
should roll aside, 1 shall not seek to darken the discovery through 
a selfish affection for the girl. 1 should rather be pleased to find 
for her the parentage she so much misses, though 1 have done my 
best to make her forget antecedents. Give me, then, the following 
information. First, is the man still alive who brought her to you 
from the foreign wreck? Where was bir Ttiomas Dunbeath, to the 
best of your knowledge, during the storm? Is the old woman still 
alive who unwound the strips of the deed of conveyance from the 
child’s body? 1 know you have no faith in tracing Mina’s parent- 
age, but 1 am forced to make these inquiries, as 1 have a great be- 
lief in the judgment and instinct of the advocate w^ho suggested the 
possibility of her being the daughter of Sir Thomas.” 

Leslie read the sheriff’s letter with a snort, and looked from his 
watch to the door. Ilis visitor was not punctual. His irritation 
seemed to grow by delay. Twice he swore, as he rose, drew oack 
the curtains, and heard the riotous laughter which was coming from 
the other side of the square. Then he rested himself with his letter 
and summoned what patience he could to his aid. He needed it ; 
for it was an hour before INancy Harper, dressed in full mourning, 
opened his dining-room door and took a seat on a distant chair. 

” 'Why the deuce don’t ycu keep your engagements?” he asked, 
tossing the sheriff’s letter into the center of his heaped table. 

Mrs. Harper unfolded a clean handkerchief and wiped her brow, 
which was not moist, but which, she seemed to feel, was in need 
of mopping. Her withered hand shook; hut there was an expres- 
sion of hard firmness about her mouth which restrained Mr. Leslie 
in the more copious use of expletives. 

” i misdoubted the cause of the errand, Roderick Leslie. 1 wad 
be let alone now that 1 am growing auld. I had hoped that there 
was, maybe, some peace in store for me, and that the dead past 
would bury its dead.” 

” So, Mrs. Harper,” said the factor, rising. ‘‘ you’re ashamed of 
the help you gave me in an earlier day? Come, cheer up. Take 


CEADLE AXD SPADE. 


53 


my keys and open that sideboard, and suit yourself, lou can’t go 
just~mfive minutes.” 

” No, no. 1 can hear ye without drinking with ye. What is it 
ye would have me listen to that ye couldn’t tell me at my own 
ingle-nook. Have 1 not washed my hands, these dozen years, of all 
that ever concerned me with you?” 

” Come, come, Nancy,” said the factor,*softenina a little, “tor 
auld lang syne, ye ken. For auld lang syne, my trusty house- 
keeper, There has been no dead buried in the past, as you very 
well know. They’re alive, hang them! and up, and active, and 
imspicious, and wanting to know. Death 1” He broke out, his 
brow inflaming with red wrath, as he paced the floor of his rcom. 
“ Death! It was one of the chances 1 thought Time would give 
me. 1 thought there would be death and the giave, Nancy Harp- 
er; and Time has not been kind.” 

The innkeeper shuddered as she looked at him. 

“ God soften ye!” she said. “ And tell me quickly what it is ye 
would say to me. And dinna be lookin’ like that, Roderick Leslie, 
and handling your^un when you’re thinking o’ human life.” 

“ Aou hag!” he ^claimed; “ who was thinking thoughts of that 
sort?” 

“ I’ve never in all my recollection of ye seen ye look so fear- 
some. Ah! when ye were a brawer and a younger man ye did what 
ye liked, and it didna misbecome ye. Bub ye’ve aged, like me, 
Roderick Leslie, and sin sits ill on an aging man.” 

“ Drink, ye old fool! and keep your fine saws for finer occa- 
sions. I tell ye I’m in danger — in aeep, immediate peril — and don’t 
know when it may break upon my head, and overwhelm me. What 
1 have done 1 am not ashamed of. If ever Sir Thomas Dunbealh 
comes back over the seas where he went, what have 1 to fear?” 

“ Twa black craws,” murmured the woman. 

“ Nothing to fear from Sir Thomas, 1 did what 1 did in his in- 
terest, and he would recognize it and clear me if he returned. But 
the law would take a different view of it. Ay, it would that. Nance; 
and you and 1— we would have to leave our bonny bields at Kud- 
dersdftie, and serve our time at the crank and the treadmill with 
people that we have never been used to ccnsort with— not very re- 
spectable people— no, no;” and Roderick Leslie, half chuckling, 
half frowning, poured himself out more spirits, and pushed a glass 
of old brandy to Mrs. Harper’s end of the table. 

The woman’s firm mouth became firmer as she turned a washy 
pair of gray eyes upon the speaker. 


54 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


“ 1 washed my hands o’ all youi secrets a dozen years ago,” she 
said, sustaining herselt with the brandy; “and indeed 1 wish la 
go down the hill quietly, and no to be fashed with them again. 

Leslie stopoed in his pacing, and tilled the room with laughter 
which was as loud and discordant as it was empty of true mirth. 

“ No to be fashed, Nq^cyl Oa, ha, ha!— no to be fashed. But 
if Sir Thomas Dunbeath doesn’t come back to say that in sending 
his heir to Jericho 1 was acting up to his instructions, then, if cer- 
tain things happen that look as if they might happen, fashed you 
will need to be The law allows of no repentance, Nancy Harper, 
for a deed done which has never been expiated. It takes account 
of nothing but the deed done.” 

“ God send the baronet home again!” 

“ The devil take him, that he ever left me to take up the task of 
suppressing his lies! But you had a hand in it. The law would 
hold you responsible for half of the act. It would, indeed. And 
ye canna be fashed! Ha, ha, ha!” 

“ It’s an ill-timed merriment, Roderick Leslie. It’s no’ the 
laugh of a repentant man who was trying (as many’s the time you 
have told me you were) to get a' things right, so that at your death 
Ruddersdale might come back to its own owner.” 

" Read that,” said Leslie, abruptly, tossing her Sheriff Durie’^s 
letter. He watched her as she read. He saw the tears steal inta 
her eyes, and her cheeks become moist. He noted that the hard» 
firm mouth relaxed, and he listened to her murmuring— 

“ Poor simple gentleman. Oh, the poor lamb! Verily, the way 
of the transgressor is hard— hard!” 

“Now, attend to me,” he said, when he got tired of W’atchlng 
the play of Nancy’s features. •* You observe that this sofi-hcarted 
old fool doesn’t want a parentage for his girl. With his * light of 
his life ’ and his ‘ gracious influence,’ and his cant of affection, 
Nance, he’d better fall in love with her, and come up with her ta 
the court next time as Mrs. Durie.” 

The woman raised her hands to her eyes, rubbed them as it in a 
dream, rose in her chair, and shooting at him a glance of scorn,, 
exclaimed— 

Hand! Roderick Leslie, you may go too far. I’m but a puir 
auld woman, and naebody dependin’ to me but my dead husband’s 
reyther. It may be the crank or the treadmill to me for what 1 
helped you to do eighteen long years ago; but 1 helped you in the 
belief that out of evii good would come; and if you breathe to me 
such a ivord as you have said, 1 will put myself in the hands o 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


00 


them that will look into the whole circumstances, anti be it death 
or prison await me, I will take them.” 

” You are forgetting what a jovial fellow 1 am, loanee Harper, 
what a wild wit and humor 1 have, and how it bubbles osrer and 
explodes in spite cf me. No! Sheriff Durie shall not marry her. 
Bui now, about another subject connected with this. The diggers 
who came by the mail-coach are still with you, I suppose?” 

** Ay, puir fellow’s.” 

‘‘Do they get lelteis? Does the younger of the two, the man 
Nixon, correspond wiili the south?” 

■‘No, no! they have no letters, if it isn’t a letter Mr. Russell gets 
from his wife. They’re intent upon I he goold, Mr. Leslie. 1 think 
from rising in the morning to going to their bed at night, there’s 
nothing in their heads but goold— goold— goold. Sur’s the day, 
Ruddersdale’s daft. To think of how it fills auld head and young 
alike; and I’m thinking it’s many a barrel o’ silver fish that will be 
lost, the year, for that daftness.” 

‘ And he doesn’t correspond with the south?” 

**Mr. Nixon?” 

*' Yes, Mr. Nixon.” 

” VVeel, if he tlisna write hfs letters in the open air, and put them 
in the box, it’s unbeknown to me that he writes letters.” 

” What sort of habits has he?” 

” Habits?” 

** Is he a big feeder? Does he drink hard? Does he work? Does 
he make himself agreeable at your ingle-nook? Is he a fool or a 
knave, or both? Or does he pretend to be a gentleman?” 

” He’s just a quiet, w’ell-behaved, stoot Scotch lad wi’ a gudo 
^appetite and halcsome manners. Ho asks a heap o’ questions, 
though. And 1 believe he was in the law ere he cam’ here. 1 hear 
Mr. Russell give him a bit chaff now and again because he w’oio 
the wig.” 

Roderick Leslie’s peregrinations threugh his room became more 
and more violent as bis questions were answered. lie twice helped 
himself to renewed quantities of spirits, and with his hand upon 
Nancy’s shoulder, he stopped to ask— 

“Yes! lie puts questions, iloes he? What may they be?” 

“You fear me wi’ that look o’ yours. Truly you fear me. Oh! 
yes, the way of the transgressor is hard.” 

Tell me, will you!” he asked, witli a burst of anger, pressing 
Ills heavy right hand on her lean, left shoulder, ” what this well- 


0(3 


CRADLE AJsD SPADE. 


behaved Scotch lad, with the good appetite, busies his mind with? 
What does he inquiie about?” 

“Hands ofl!” cried Mrs. Harper, rising and shaking herself 
free of hia grasp, “ you forget yourself. It's a strait- waistcoat you’re 
working up to. Don’t think to intimidate me. The lad just asked 
whether a foreign wreck had happened in the bay eighteen years 
ago, and if 1 remembered it, and if 1 thought there was still any of 
the wood of the ship left in the village, and if 1 remembered the 
babe that was taken into your house, and what kind of a man Mr. 
Leslie was, and what the people of the neighborhood thought about 
him?” 

“ You answered him, 1 suppose, down to the minutest detail of 
his inquiry? You told him that you remembered the storm, that 
you handled (he foreign babe, that— INancy Harper, if you betray 
me 1 will kill you.” 

The woman with all her coolness and knowledge of the rough- 
ness of men, trembled where she sat. The man was transfigured 
with wrath, and the resolution that wrath had inspired him wdth to 
save himself at others’ expense, even if his means of salvation were 
murder. 

“Oh! Roderick Leslie, think twice about the road you are goings 
Y’ou know enough about the law and about life to take yourself 
oot o’ this difficulty. A bit callant wd’ a canoe! and you talking 
about shedding of blood. 

Leslie recovered himself, but there was no abatement in his anger, 
as he ordered her “ lo watch this Kixon, find out all that happened 
to him, and bring her account of it to him.’- A little later he 
stopped in front of his mirror, and the figure he saw was that of a 
wild beast thirsting for blood. 


CHAPTER XL 

NIXON’S DISCOYERY. 

As an experienced miner, Russell took it upon him to direct 
operations. He asked Nixon to take an accurate note of the Rudder 
from its source tc the sea. It was a day’s journey lu the source in 
hiB canoe, for the Rudder started from the sedges of a loch round 
the toot of Cnoc Dhu. He was to keep in his mind all the shingle 
margins and stretches of sand, all the clifis of granite and clay 
banks wheie easy spade-work might bring to view the boasted ore 
of the stream. Nixon was not a geclogist; but ail the geological 


CKADLE AXl) SPADE. 


survey required for Russell’s purpose he was quite competent to per- 
form. IMoreover, he liked doing the tvork. Surveying was greatly 
more to his mind than that harder task of sinking shafts which lay 
before him. Kct that he was afraid of his work, having under- 
taken it, but, being a new kind, the preliminaries to it pleased him 
more than he thought the work would do itself. Besides, canoeing 
had been the dearest enjoyment of his life, and, on the Rudder, he 
had every variety of exercise. There were shallows to annoy him, 
in which he sometimes rasped the stones, and was jerked forward, 
paddle in hand, till his face touched the bow. There were long 
murky pools, where the water was black, over which he sped as if 
on wings. There were plunging rapids, in which the waves roared 
and foamed, and the spray, shot with the hues of the rainbow, 
rolled round the backs like the steam from a caldrori. Each 
variation of the stream had its own peculiar kind of excitement, 
and in contrast to the odor of his empty brief -box, he had the air 
of the heather. No wonder, then, he felt an unwonted exuberance 
as one day he rounded the foot of Cnoc Dim, and paddled into the 
quiet waters of Loch Dirlot. There was not so much as a ripple 
on the brown surface, and the wide plain of water suddenly re- 
vealed to him lay tranquil at the foot of Cnoc Dhu’s crags, as if 
never wind visited it. And the crags! 'J’hey went sheer up, pil- 
lared and shelved and fissured, until the sheep at the top became 
mere wandering specks of wool. Instead of silence, too, as he ex- 
pected, the air was full of the cry of wild birds, not a melodious cry. 
certainly, but angry skirling, accompanied by a noisy beating and 
wheeling of wings. He turned idly in his cance. There was an 
island not far off; the birds were rising from it in clouds and urg- 
ing their way toward the cliff; the first greenness of spring was 
showing amongst the herbage; he idly paddled toward it. fie leaped 
ashore on a teach of shingle, where he saw a boat moored. He 
looked into the boat, and in a willow basket his e^-e caught sight 
of a great collection of eggs. They seemed to be every hue, size, and 
shape. Some of them were of an exquisitely pale violet; others had 
red lines and freckles; some were snowy- white, some sea-green 
with inky streaks; they were all the eggs of large birds, and, as 
Ni.xon looked at them, he understood why it was that at the further 
end of the island there was so violent a depionstration on the wing. 
Being fatigued with his long row, hewever, he did not go to see. 
He preferred to rest himself on the shingle and to call to mind that 
he had come there for gold. 

“ 1 don’t know that this would be a bad place,” he reflected, lay- 


5S 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


ing out a flask, anti burying the head of his pipe in the inside of 
his pouch while he deftly filled it with his thumb. “ This is allu- 
vium 1 suppose, and I shall report to Russell that we had better 
come here and dig. Heavens I what a place to dig, with that mag- 
nificent mountain looming over us. 1 wonder how many aspects 
Cnoc Dhu has! 1 have seen five oi six already. 1 must go round 
the northern side and look at that. Well, well! and not a human 
being to see it except the old Highlander who is stirring up strile 
among the birds. 1 sha’n't be sorry to see a human face again.” 

Puff, puff, puff! Having pulled at his flask he sat, with his 
hands clasped, puffing into the tranquil air, feeling inside him such 
a tranquillity as only these remote spots can bring. He had uot to 
W'ait long before a crackling among the twigs behind him an- 
nounced the presence of the disturber of the peace of the island. 
He had expected an old Highlander, with a shriveled face and a 
pair of watery, startled dark eyes. But no, this was no Highlander 
who walked down the strand, her apron loaded with eggs; it was a 
girl with the flush of excitement on her cheeks, and her gray eyes 
shone, and as she lifted out her willow basket from her boat and 
put in the eggs, Nixen rose to his teet, making a noise among the 
-shingle. The girl turned, and such was her surj^rise at the sight of 
him that she dropped some of her spoil at her feet, and drew’ back 
with an air of defiant surprise. She was dressed in homely cotton, 
and her hair was gatheied within a sun-tonnet the color of a but- 
tercup; she stood looking at him in wonder tor a little while, until 
she saw his canoe and paddle, when she overcame her surprise and 
smiled. 

INixon smiled, too. “ Yes, 1 came over in that,” he said, with- 
drawing his pipe to speak, and walking toward her across the 
shingle. 

” You’ll be a gauger?” she said. 

** 1 wish 1 tvas,” he answered. ” I’m not in such an important 
position.” 

‘ You’ll be one of the duke’s people?” 

” Guess again. I’m not of his people.” 

” You’ll be a stranger?” 

” Yes, that’s my profession.” 

* What airt did ye come from?” 

^ ”1 came round the foot of Cnoc Dhu. How did you come?’* 

” The same way.” 

” Are you one of the duke’s people?” 

“No.” 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


59 


“ You’il not be a stranger?” 

“No.” 

” I shouldn’t think you were very popular on the island. The 
birds wcie rather scared by your presence. Do they always skirl 
when they see you?” 

” ITes, indeed they do. They know very well when they see me 
^nd my boat that there’ll be a thinning amongst the eggs.” 

” You’ll be a Highland young lady?” 

” No, I’m not Highland, suppose that 1 live at Cnoc Dhu. My 
lather’s lowland, and my mother’s lowland tco. He came up trcm 
the town.” 

” Which one?” 

” Ruddersdale town. There’s not any other one near. Do you 
not know Ruddersdale?” 

” 1 am living at it.” 

” And is there any news, then, trom the town?” 

She sat down on the gunwale of the boat— a big, awkward, lum- 
bering boat, with heavy oars — and seemed inclined to chat. Nixon 
strolled toward her, and was very willing to prolong the conversa- 
tion. He did not think it was treason to Mina Durie to notice that 
beneath the buttercup sun-hat her hair rippled and shone. He did 
not forget Mina because ho looked at her gray eyes and saw that 
they were clear and sincere. 

” What sort Df news would you like?” 

‘‘Oh! it’s not what 1 w'ould like; it’s what’s going on. It's a 
real queer thing to ask me what 1 would like, as it the news would 
happen because you said it.” 

‘‘Ah! 1 think you must be a Highland young lady,” 

‘‘ Indeed 1 am not. It’s the Mackays that are Highland. The 
Guns are all Lowland. And in this country if you are not a Gun 
you are a Mackay, and if you are not a Mackay, you are a Gun.” 

” Well, let me seel News. Do you know Mrs. Harper?” 

” Oh! if I don’t. Nancy and me, we are*the best friends in the 
world. 1 like old Nancy Harper, and 1 live there when 1 go to the 
town.” 

” This morning early, then, 1 looked out of my window — the 
window above the door-way, with the white blind and muslin cur- 
tains—” 

‘‘Ohl never:” said the girl; ‘‘if it isn’t the very room 1 had 
.myself when 1 was in the town.” 

‘ 1 don’t dislike it because of that,” said Nixon, who did not for- 
get the sheriff's ward. 


60 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Why would you dislike it because of that? I’m Oliver Gun’s 
daughter, an(i he’s the best shepherd in the north.” 

‘*13ut 1 was giving you the news.” 

” Pardon me then, but though we live on the mountain -aide 
we’re very proud and take oftense easy. ISIow let me hear the news.” 

” Well, 1 looked out of the window, and saw a man in his shirt 
sleeves go down the pier, light a pipe, smoke, and go home again. 
1 saw another man do the same. Then more smoke began to rise 
from the cabin of a smack in the harbor. Then the morning mail- 
coach from the north passed, with Mr. Laggan at the back of it, 
blowing his horn till his red cheeks seemed swollen to the buisting. 
After that, 1 went out on the pier myself, smoked, had my break- 
fast, walked off with my canoe under my arm, and came on here.” 

Oh, well! that’s not very much news you’ve brought.” 

‘ i’ou don’t manufacture it on a large scale at Ruddersdale.” 

If it was the fishing season you wouldn’t say that. There’s 
plenty of news then; and 1 was expecting that there would be news 
about the gold.” 

I^ixon looked at her curiously. 

You have heard of the gold, then?” 

Heard of it!’‘ tossing her head proudly. ** 1 discovered it. It 
was me who found it first. And it was my father and me who 
took it to Mr. Leslie, My father went in, and 1 waited outside at 
the door. To be sure, 1 have heard of the gold. See, too, that 
medal with a hole in it, that I’m w’ earing. He gave me that for 
what 1 fcund in my basin.” 

The girl pulled a sovereign from her throat, where it was sus- 
pended, and showed it to Nixon, who approached and bowed his 
head over her bosom to look at it. He looked longer at the sover- 
eign than he required to do in order to master the details of its date 
of publication. The girl replaced it with a gesture nf importance, 
exclaiming 

‘‘1 think it’s me that has more news than you, though you 
have come from the town.” 

Why,” he puisued, after a while, looking at her soft arm, 
” how did you gel that?” 

Her arm w’as bare, and just below the elbow the blood flowed 
from an abrasion of the skin. 

” The birds are so tame on the island that some of them won’t 
move; and I had to' stir up a great wild-goose with my foot to get 
her to get up, and when she wouldn’t budge with my foot, 1 had 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


61 


to put clown my arm ana litt her oft. She turned round and gave 
me a good nip.” 

” Yes; 1 should say it ^’as. Let me wash it for you.” 

The girl laughed, and said* ” INow 1 have got ’all my eggs 1 will 
be going.” 

” You are in a desperate hurry to be oft.” 

“I’ve been here a good while, and 1 have to take them back to 
111 }' father’s house on Cnoc Dhu, for he has to blow them and sort 
them on strings before he takes them down to Duncan Elder’s. 
Oh, no, they’re not for eating at all. They’re for selling to strangers, 
like you. We couldn’t eat them for the taste of the fish is so strong 
In them. But the strangers buy them for curiosity, and Duncan 
Elder— he’s no! on our land at all; he’s a forester on. the duke's 
property— he gives my father half of what they will give him. So 
you see, I’m not coming here for nothing.” 

‘‘ 1 should like, if 5 ’'ou don’t mind, to give that wild goose a 
knock on the head if you would show me where she is sitting. ’ 

” What would be the use cf that? Xs it because she gave me a 
nip? INever mind her. It’s a provoking thing for them to have 
their eggs taken away from them. 1 must be off now, or my father 
will be getting anxious. You see he hasn’t so much time at this 
season of the year, w'hat wi’ the young lambs coming, and the sheep 
wanting to go up Cnoc Dhu again after the winter months.” 

‘‘ I’m going back your way; I’ll accompany you so far,” he said, 
as she stepped nimbly into her boat, and threw out the unwieldy 
oars on eithei side. 

” The birds are in a rage,” she said, as a storm of screaming 
broke over their heads. ‘‘ I’ll be glad to get out of this noise.” 

They row'ed out of fhe loch, almcst abreast of each other, she 
looking curiously at his frail craft and deft paddle, he expressing 
a little anxiety at the dead weight of her oars and the Dutch heavi- 
ness of her boat. They were not long in leaching the Rudder, 
which emerged among sedges from the loch, and dawdled slowly 
down toward the sea. 

” Ah, 1 just thought that my father would he getting anxious,’* 
pointing to a figure with a crook ou the margin of the stream. 

” And that’s Oliver Gun, is it?” 


m 


CRADLE Ai^D SPADE. 


CHAPTER Xll. 

THE OriNIOX OF HER FRIENDS. 

Sheriff Durie was not very grateful to Frank Usher for the 
suggestion he had made about Alina. He would have preferred 
that Alina should remain on his hands as much a problem as the 
originator of the origin of species, the man in the iron mask and 
the author of Junius. But his mind was too much habituated to 
the search for cool truth to allow him to ignore any suggestion 
which seemed to be made in good faith. Usher had made the sug- 
gestion that Alina was the daughter of Sir Thomas Dunbeath with 
something like passion. The sheriff was not unaware that the ad- 
vocate saw what an advantage Xixon had in devoting himself to 
her service, and that he was anxious accordingly to assert his own 
interest in the search. Both the young men bored him on the sub- 
ject, but Usher less than Nixon, because he regarded him as a brill- 
iant youth, with solid prospects. He was not sorry, however, hav- 
ing written to his friend, Leslie, in the North to hear that the man 
or men who had brought Alina ashore from the wreck had long left 
the coasi, though the woman who had nursed Alina was still availa- 
ble fcr crcss-examination in tier little inn at Ruddersdale. Had he 
been thoroughly disinterested, the sheriff would not have been 
pleased to find that some of the avenues to the truth were perma- 
nently closed. He thought, however, he was old enouffb to know 
that even if Alma did discover her true parentage, she would never 
be happier than she had been in ITs house. He was more than 
usually brisk and alert on the morning of Leslie’s answer, and after 
breakfast, as ho stood looking on the spring sunlight, in which the 
insects were beginning to come to life about his lawn, he hummed 
tunes. Dressed in a velvet shooting coat, with a blue tie on his 
breast, he seemed more like an artist than a distributer cf judg- 
ments. Alina knew whenever he made his appearance in that style 
that he was unusually well and cheerful. 

“ 1 haven’t done anything at my ‘ Eminent Scotch Sheriffs’ for 
some months, Alina,” he remarked wheeling round upon her. Ho 
had'been engaired tor twenty years upon a book purporting to bear 
that title. Somehow it never got written, though the reputaticu of 
it had gone abroad, and people we"e accustomed to say of him, 

What! Don’t know Sheriff Durie! lie’s w^ritteii the most mas- 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


65 


telly account of the Scotch sheritiry which exists.” That is what 
lie meant they should say, having* completed the hook As yet, 
however, after twenty years’ consideration of it, he had got no fur- 
ther than ten fragments of biography, in which he thought he had 
turned some very good periods, and written incidental passages of 
history worthy of Alison or Macaulay. Though the book never got 
itself completed, it kept the sherifl: a good deal in the Advocates’ 
Library, and he was not a little proud of the voluminous quantity 
of extracts he had made in the course of the twenty years’ consid- 
eration he had given to the subject. ‘‘1 don’t get cn as 1 would 
wish to,” he said, diving both hands into the pockets of his coat, 
and turning upon Mina, who stood enveloped in a daik dress of 
velveteen eaged wMlh gold— ■she was preparing to go out, and make 
some morning calls. He was delighted to see that the cravinji for 
a little social life had come back upen her. She had not recently 
caied much about going ouc ” 1 must lake it up again, Mina. 
The administration of Scotch law during the Reformation period — 
that is the knotty portion 1 am writing, and it requires a great deal 
of hard burrowing. Imusl get help. Indeed Usher has been good 
enough to give me a little help already. It’s a singular ciicam- 
stance about Usher, what an entire absence of the historical sense 
there is in him. He sees a precedent and its application to a given 
case with mighty keenness. But the nice proportion, the feeling 
for antiquity, and the sl 3 de which are requisite for iny ‘ Eminent 
Scotch Sheriffs,’ are entirely denied him.” 

“lam sure Joseph had nice proportion.” 

‘‘ Oh, come, Mina, that’s loo much of a good tiling. Joseph 
knew— knews, 1 should say— quite less about Scotch history than 
a town messenger. Quite less! Don^t look so gloomy 1 am very 
far from underrating Joseph on his own ground. But as for giv 
ing me any assistance in my ‘ Eminent Scotch Sheriffs,’ oh, no! 
Kow, 1 am not likely to be back befcie dinner-time; where do you 
propose to go to? Don’t call upon that sour old Mrs, Gibson. 
She’ll only fill your mind with bitterness. She’s a disagreeable 
woman. An unwholesome, unsatisfactory, entirely obnoxious 
woman. 1 hope she will remove out of the neighborhood, and take 
her scandal-mongering into some com.nunity which will belter ap- 
preciate it,” 

” No, papa dear, 1 sha’u’t call on her. I like her as little as you 
do. 1 mean to walk round and see the Finlays. I’erhaps 1 shall 
go as far as the Bei trams ” 

” Then you will want to ride?” 


64 


CEADLE AIsD SPADE. 


“No; 1 shall prefer to walk round. It is a lovely morning. 
Bessie Finlay will expect me, and Gerty, too." 

“ Veiy good," said the sherid, his head full of his eminent pre- 
decessors; “ only 1 suppose you will be hack at dinner." 

“ dinner, yes." 

The sherid drove into town, and Mina walked a mile round the 
hill to the Finlays. The Finlays have nothing to do with Mina’s 
subseijuent history, as they had nothing to do with her past. She 
only went there because they were neighbors, Mr. Finlay being a 
personage who ran steam-boats from Leith to every known port be- 
tween the north and south pole. Mr. Finlay was an abstraction to 
Mina, a tat abstraction, whc came home in his carriage at seven 
o’clock in the eveninc, who dined by hunselt, and rolled away — no- 
body ever having seen much of him in the interval — next morning 
nt eight o’clock. He had, however, four pretty daughters, the 
major part of wdicse life was spent at Corstorphine, between a green 
lawn, a hot-house, a drawing-room, and their bedrooms. Their fa- 
ther was very nearly as much an abstraction to them as to Mina. 
He never said good-morning to them in the morning; he never 
kissed them at night when they went to their beds; he sometimes 
called G<*ity Bessie, and Bessie Gerty, having no very sustained 
idea in his mind who was who. Perhaps it was because his wife 
had borne him fifteen daughters in his time, and the survivors were 
not unlike some of the deceased. At any rate, Mina liked them, 
though she knew little of their father, and she valued their opinion 
on most of those questions which pretty girls discuss when they 
see each other, on green lawns, in hot-houses, or in their bedrooms." 

“ Oh, lovely!" cried Gerty Finlay at a window opening upon a 
garden walk, where Mina was sauntering. 

“ Good-morning, Gerty. Isn’t it lovely? It might be midsum- 
mer. The air is so warm and' soft. 1 see your rookery is all fin- 
ished.” 

“ Oh, lovely!" repeated Gerty. “ And it isn’t the air, nor the 
rookery. It’s you, Mina. Bessie, do look, before she comes 
nearer. ” 

The two sisters, brown-haired, clear-complexioned girls, stood 
at the window and looked down at Mina, who smiled upon them. 
As she went to the door Gerty said to Bessie— 

“ I’m sure she is a foreign princess. Did you ever see anything 
so becoming as that walking-dress?" 

“Oh, lovely!" cried Gerty, as Mina went into their morning- 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


65 


loom, where they were snippiDi' the stalks of flowers and arranging 
them prettily tor besloival over the house. 

“ Geity, don’t,” cried Mina; ” please restrain your admiration. 
You make me feel quite unhappy. What is it? Js it the lace, or 
the shape, or — ” 

” It’s everything put together, Mina dear, and yourself looking 
for ail the world like a foreign princess.” 

Mina knew that her neighbors busied themselves with making up 
little romances about her origin. But she did not care to here- 
minded of it. She preferred to move out and in among them as 
Sheriff Durie’s daughter. 

‘‘ Turn round, Mina,” said Bessie, ” and give me a back view.” 

Mina turned round to oblige her, and then sat dow'n, positively 
•declining to be admired or criticised any longer. 

Mrs. Finlay came in presently — a large solid woman with a jo- 
vial expression of worldly enjoyment, and was invited to take up 
Ihe strain commenced by Gerty at the open window. 

” And, how’s the sheriff?” asked Mrs. Finlay. 

” Over head and ears in work,” said Mina. 

” Ah, it’s a very exacting profession, the law,” said Mrs. Finlay, 
scrutinizing the girl from top to toe; adding, ” 1 do. think, Bessie, 
that a walking dress like that would suit your complexion and fig- 
ure better than it does Mina’s. JMow, if 1 were dressing you, Mina, 
1 should say, ‘ Choose colors which by contrast bring out youi own 
natural complexion.’ That’s a good rule, and though you are raven 
dark, you dress yourself in daik material, which is a mistake. Ko 
doubt the yellow edging relieves it, and the lace is pietty in any 
case at your throat and your wiists. Still, something lighter would 
suit my idea of you better. It would make the m( st of your raven 
hair and you delicate complexion. But, after all, you’re an en- 
gaged girl, and it doesn’t much matter.” 

” Mina, you’re always telling j^eople unpalatable truths,” said 
Bessie. 

‘ Is it an unpalatable truth to he told that you are engaged? I 
can assure you, Bessie, 1 shouldn’t be at all sorry tc be telling you 
just such a truth.” 

Bessie snipped her flowers contemptuouslv, and remarked that 
” she was not such a hopeless old maid that her mamma should be 
so desperately anxious to have her engaged.” 

‘‘They don’t go off,” pursued Mis. Finlay without the least 
apparent idea that she was saying anything annoying, ‘‘ they don’t 

go off, Mina. 1 don’t know whether it’s their noses or their feet, 

• 3 


G6 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


but Dobody proposes for them. I did think that the engaging young^ 
publisher who danced six waltzes with her at the December assem- 
bly had some intention of proposing. But no. It all ended in his 
calling upon Mr. Finlay and asking him for cheap rates for his^ 
books to the Cape of Good Hope.’' 

“There’s nothing the matter with our nos(s,” said Gerty, feel- 
ing that organ with her thumb and finger, and talking in a nasal 
. voice. 

“ Don’t you think,” pursued Mrs. Finlay, “ that Gerty has got 
rather too much nose for the shape of her face? It makes her look 
_ so decided and sometimes quite repulsively firm; whereas, poor 
thing, she is a perfect angel of acquiescence, and would be a treas- 
ure to any reasonable man. Bessie’s nose is not the thing either. 

- 1 like a nose like yours, now, Mina; that, if you will excuse me for 
saying it, suggests a little reserve of impudence.” 

“Oh, ma!” cried Gerty, “Mina is not— ” 

But the mother was not going lo be stopped in the high career 
of her talk. 

“ VYell, you are an engaged girl at any rale, Mina, and you can 
tell them if it isn’t a very happy time of life. 1 wasn’t long engaged 
myself. Mr. Finlay married me six weeks after he saw me. That 
was before he had steam boats. He was always a hasty man, but 

- though we married in haste we never repented at leisure. Long 
engagements are a mistake. I have no patience with a man who 
asks a girl to be his wife, and keeps her dilly-dallying for years till 
he is ready; life isn’t long enough for that sort-of thing. When 
is your marriage coming off? Dear me, 1 forget whether it is that 
strong young man, JNixon, or that disgustingly clever advocate,. 
Usher, you are engaged to.” 

’ “ Ma-ratlles away,” said Bessie; “ you mustn’t mind her, Mina.. 

She’s been so much about the world with pa that she says anything 
just for the sake of talk.” 

“ 1 am not thinking much about marriage,” said Mina, gulping 
down a strange sensation at her throat. 

“ You take it very seriously to be an engaged girl, Mina,” said 
Mrs. Finlay. “ 1 remem Der when 1 was engaged 1 made faces at 

- myself in the looking-glass one half of the day, and kissed Alee 
the other half.” 

“ Ma, dear, 1 think you are rather coarse,” said Bessie, looking 
at Mina’s disturbed countenance. 

“ Well, I’m not porcelain, 1 admit that. What does the shcrifi: 
think of your marriage, my dear? Here are the Bertrams, 1 de- 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


67 


«lare— Bobby Bertiam and his sister. He's an idle lad, that Bobby 
Bertram. Gert}’', go upstairs for my thimble. Well, Bobby Ber- 
tram, how aie you? How do you do, Eleanor? We were just dis-^ 
^cussing Mina’s engagement.” 

‘‘Dear Mrs. Finlay, please not to discuss it any loneer,” said 
Mina 

” 1 was saying, Eleancr, that 1 think it’s their noses which keeps 
them from going oft— I mean my girls. 1 have no fault to find 
with Mina’s nose.” 

Bobby Bertram, an extravagantly iliessed youth, carrying a heavy 
flavor of scent about him, twirled his dark mustache and looked 
sentimentally at Mina. 

‘‘ Bobby, when are you going to do any work?” asked Mrs. Fin- 
lay. 

” When the lawns are in crder I’m going to devote my time to 
‘Croquet.” 

” How would you like to be engaged to an advocate?” asked 
Mrs. Finlay, addressing Eleanor. 

Mina looked miserable, but it was no use attempting to restrain 
Mrs. Finlay. She was nothing if not outspoken. Eleanor was a 
tall girl, with a good figure and a malevolent face. She said if one 
didn’t marry a publisher, one must marry an advocate— there was 
no other choice in the metropolis; but at least she wouldn’t like 
to marry a man who couldn’t speak up to his brief when he got 
one. 

” 1 would marry fcr love, not for these sorts of reasons, ” said 
Gerty with a simper. 

” Oh ! 1 dare say you will run away with the baker some day,” in- 
terrupted her mother; proceeding to remark, ” 1 must say, Eleanor, 

1 think you have the right of it. Who was it, girls, told us about 
that Mr. Nixon, what a shameful break-down he had made in the 
Parliament House?” 

‘‘Ma, 1 wish 3^011 would hold your tongue,” exclaimed Bessie, 
looking at Mina’s disconsDlate face. 

” Ohl you’re all so sensitive nowadays,” said Mrs. Finlay, ring- 
ing for something to eat and drink. ” Here, niy dear, if 1 haven’t 
said the right thing about your sweetheart, I'm sorry for it. Come 
and sit next me. Bobby Bertram, sit at the head of the table and 
< 3 arve. You will be hungry after your walk. Idle people are aU. 
ways hungry, Bcbby.” 

” Or thirsty, Mrs. Finlay,” said Bobby, looking in the direction 
the decanter. 


68 


CEADLE AETD SPADE. 


Mina had come for a little sympathy, or, at least for a little vari- 
ation to the monotony of her regret for the absent Joseph. But 
here she found nothing but contempt for her absent lover. On thfr 
other hand. Usher was discussed in a strain so flatl Bring that she 
felt she had done him much injustice in all her thoughts of him. 

“ He is very ambitious,” said Eleanor Bertram; “ but 1 love 
ambition in a man. One may be sure it will always tane him a 
little way up the mountain, even if he don’t reach the top. He is 
just the sort of man 1 should like to marry.” 

” 1 hate your hard-working fellows,” ejaculated Bobby, whc ha^ 
an income of his own, and didn’t need to work. 

” Eat, then, Bobby,” said Mrs. Finlay. 


CHAPTER Xlll. 

ON THE SPOT. 

The little community of Ruddersdale was accustomed to an an- 
nual icflux of strangers. They came in from remote western islands 
to fill the local boats at the great season of the herring-fishing. 
They crowded the lowland village, and having habits of their own, 
they once a year gave it a foreign appearance to itself. When they 
had passed a couple of months sailing into the North Sea, lying" 
through the summer midnights at their nets, they went away with 
their wages to their crofts on another shore. From time immemor- 
ial Ruddersdale had been used to them; it expected them; anc£ 
when they came it understood their ways. 

But what was this the shepherd’s daughter at Cnoc Bhu had 
done? She had found a handful of particles, and all of a sudden 
Ruddersdale had blazed into the firmament of publicity. Peoole 
in the south talked about Ruddersdale, wrote about Ruddersdale, 
waited in the great metropolis of Edinburgh for the latest news- 
about Ruddersdale; and that, not because Ruddersdale went to sea 
and fished, but because gold lay among her ravines and mount- 
ains. 

There was a visible increase in the importance of the leading in- 
habitants, as rumor magnified insignificant finds into substantial 
nuggets, and the hamlet gathered to itself a larger fame. In the 
parish church, the Rev. Mr. Johnson had Ophir constantly on his 
lips, and his warnings were impressive to those who set their minds 
upon “gear” unaccompanied by “grace.” But it was enough 


CRADLE AIsD SPADE. 


G9 


lor Kuddersdale that ]Mr. Leslie believed ia the gold. Not that it 
pinned its faith in all things, temporal and spiritual, to the poten- 
tate of the place; but it had long been accustomed to his lead in 
everything which concerned it, and it Knew of old that Roderick 
Leslie generally could be trusted to understand what he was about. 
It witnessed the arrival ot a new order of face with some tear 
and jealousy. New^ arrivals who came to dig were very unlike the 
autumn arrivals who came to fish. The fishermen spoke Gaelic and. 
kept much to themselves, and were, except at great pay occasions, 
unaffected and sober and simple. Not understanding much Scolch, 
they preferred their own company to the Rudderdalers’. But the 
men who arrived to dig w’ere a different order of being. Scotch 
they were, no doubt, like the Ruddersdalers themselves, but Scotch 
with all the local edge rubbed off their speech. They might have 
been born and bred far beyond the Border, or over the sea in Ire- 
land, to judge from the bold incisiveness of their speech. Then 
they had a manner of their own. Everything they did was disagree- 
ably “ on the open.” Then it was the custom of every householder 
in Ruddersdale to take a mid-day dram, either at Nancy Harper’s, 
or at the big hotel, or in one or other of the spirit shops on the 
shore. To facilitate that object back doors abounded in .Rudders- 
dale, so that the ” dramatists ” migltt avoid all appearance ot the 
evil thing when they were engaged in taking it. 

It was the diplomatic homage which the ” dramatists ” paid to 
sobriety. They did not like to offend the great moral law ot tem- 
perance by even seeming to take a dram. They preferred to disap- 
pear suddenly at a lack door, ii>stead of boldly entering beneath 
Nancy Harper’s sign, and when they reappeared in the street they 
liked to look as if their brief absence might be explained by the 
delivery of a tract, or some other similar mission of a goodly and 
estimable character. The new arrivals, on the contrary, were con- 
stantly dramming, but they ignored the institution of back doors, 
and boldly stood, pipes in mouth aud tumblers iu hand, drinking, 
regardless of appcLrance or custom. Then they had no “can- 
niness ” about them, no ” pawkiness ’’—phrases significant of the 
deeper diplomacies ot village life; they stood in the street, speaking 
right out from the chest, and that rather noisily than otherwise. 
They bad all been at the other side of the world; some of them had 
been in America; some of them bad been everywhere; most of 
them professed to have already twice or thrice made large fortunes 
and thrown them awa}^ It can not be said that Ruddersdale liked 
them so well as it liked the quiet western fishermen; but as the gold 


70 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


Sever grew, il leainecl to accomraodale itself to lliem and llieir tnan- 
ncrs. Besides, did Hiey not pay tor their lodgings? and was Rud- 
der s< I ale to be above such a question of legitimate niofit as that? 
At the eni ol the pier a new tone was introduced into society by 
the diggers. Take a look at them, one of these tine spring even- 
ings, as they stand at the pier-head, a couple of dozen of them. 
Bussell is there, and Nixon too; the latter smoking his pipe, Iiav- 
ing performed a day’s rowing to Cnoc Dhu, and willing to hear the 
chat of the experienced before he takes up his work. Thert is a 
generic sameness about the diggers. Nixon can tell from looking 
at them that they have been used to spuits of hard work, varied 
by prolonged spells of idleness. There is one man as tall as him- 
sell sitting on a box; he has no jacket on, and he is sitting in his 
white shirt sleeves, and is dressed in good black cloth. What could 
have taken him to Buddersdale? Not want, for ever and anon he 
takes out a handful of silver from his pocket to find a fusee among 
the change. Ke calls himself Armstrong, not inappropriately, to 
judge irom the swing of his arms as he talks. Like the rest of 
(hem, he talks Scotch without any appreciable accent. 

“ How did 1 ceme to be at Red Gully in ’52?” he is saying to a 
medium-sized man, wearing a beaid to his w^aist and a belt which 
might have tied up a slallios. “ 1 went mate of a brig from the 
Clyde the year before, and we had been dodging about the Pacific 
for fifteen months when we ran down to Victoria for some wmol. 
We had heard a mighty fuss about pearls in the islands, but devil 
a pearl did we get; either the natives wouldn’t sell or they had 
nothing to sell. Except at one remote spot, by the way, W'here w'e 
had— me and one o’ the crew— got over a white reef, and lay off a 
shore where there was a mighty routing and hallooing of men and 
women w’earing their own skins, and looking warm m them. We 
didn’t dare to land, for there were so many of them, and the}' didn’t 
seem particularly polite, the men of them handling their clubs with 
rather mere afi^ection than v/e cared about. But 1 noticed one old 
chief, wearing a pair of drawers, with a respectable kind o’ look 
about him, though he was as blue as that sea with tattooing. So 1 
stood up in the stern o’ the boat and cried out — 

“ ‘ Buono, Johnny; hae ye ouy pearls to sell?’ 

” The old chap seemed to prick up his ears at that. He stepped 
down the beach a bit, with the dignity o’ fifteen skippers. We 
could see by the way the crowd made way for him that he was cock 
o’ the walk. He steps dowm till he stands just outside the w'aves, 
iind up goes his fist, this W'ay, and he bellows over to us — ‘ Hoo’s 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


71 


a’ wi’ ye, my hearty?’ Think o’ that now, in ane o’ them little 
Pacific islands, a tattooed man bellowing—' Iloo’s a’ wi’ ye, my 
heaity?’ You can suppose that our first notion was to ’bout ship 
and run. It sounded so old Nickish. Then putting up his fist 
again, he calls out— ‘ I’m frae Auchtermuchty mysel’; whaur do 
you come frae?’ 

" ‘ Peltycui,’ says 1. ‘ AA'hat’s your name?’ 

" ‘ Jock Bonthron,’ says he. 

“ ‘ Jcck- Bonthron, o’ Auchtermuchty,’ says 1, ‘ that was drooned. 
seeven years ago?’ 

“ ‘ The very same.’ 

“ ‘ What are ye noo, Jock?' 

“ * Come ashore and see,’ he roared; and when 1 was steering 
the boat ashore, an ugly fellow put up a. boomerang above hi& 
shoulder and was going to fling, when Jock, like a hundred 
weight of coal, comes down on him with his fist, and the mart 
disappears. They were used to it, 1 could see, for the fellow crawled 
round to Jock’s feet and begged his pardon. When we got 
ashore he lakes us round to his house, as canty a bield as you’ll 
find in Ruddersdale, and after a dish o’ the finest oysters 1 ever 
tasted, and real turtle-soup, he presented me wi’ a handful o’ pearls. 

“ ‘ Armstrong,’ was his last wcrd, as he shcved us ofi, ‘ not a 
syllable about this to Meg.’ 

“ ‘ Surely, surel}’-,’ says 1; for Jock had six wives and fifteen 
young children among the savages, and, as he said to me, ‘ Man, 
it’s wonderful how comfortable you can mak’ yoursel’, if you 
just gi’e them a wee bit knockin’ doon noo and again.’ ” 

“ Who was Meg?” asked Nixon. 

” llis weedow^” replied Armstrong. 

‘‘ But that’s no answer to my question,” suggested the man with 
tne leather bell; ” how you came to be at the Red Gully in ’52.” 

” I’m cornin’ on tc that,” replied Armstrong. ‘‘After we left 
Bonthron’s island, we went due S. W. for \'ictoria, sure o’ a cargo 
o’ wool, at any rate; but when we threw out an anchor at Long 
Bay, where five-and-twenly ships lay deep in the water, we couldn’t 
make it out at all. There wasn’t a watchman aboard a single 
ship. Not a sign of life from stem to stern o’ one o’ them. Cap- 
tain w’eni ashore in hi? boat to look utD an agent. Not a shop open. 
Every house deserted, every inhabitant fled, as if the plagues o’ 
Egypt had been driving up theii street. At last lie came on an old 
Chinaman with a broken leg, and the explanathtn was out. ‘‘ Ally 
go diggee goldee,” said the Chinam in, ^Ycll, he went about with. 


72 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


liis boat’s crew, helping himself to whatever he had a mind to; then 
he came aboard drunk, singing, ‘ Ally go diggee goldee.’ 

“ I’ll go pay a visit to that clipper lying astern,” says I, when 
the captain went asleep with his head in a coal-scuttle. And oil I 
goes, in the evening, got aboard, and what do X find? ‘ Witness 
my hand, John JSoothby, that this day, my crew having deserted 
for the gold-fields, 1 follow to the same place to recover them.’ 
Every man-jack ot them had bolted, and John Boothby made the 
best of a bad job, and followed too. So did our crew; a-nd that’s 
how 1 came to.be at Bed Gully in ’52.” 

That was only one man’s chatter. There were a couple of dozen 
of them at it on this spring evening at the pier-head, all c’aattering — 
some of them of bloodshed and robbery ; some of them of treasure 
made and thrown away,- never to return. They were thus engaged 
when a stout, hectoring man, with a red face, swept dovvn the quay. 

” ’Fake a good look at him, f^ixon,” said Russell. 

“ whyr’ 

” It’s Roderick Leslie; and you haven’t had the pleasure of be- 
ing introduced to him yet.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A LITTLE TALK. 

The miners stopped their talk when Leslie made his appearance, 
lie had evidently come down to say something to them in a body, 
and as a body they lifted their heads and looked at him. So cos- 
mopolitan a group had never gathered on that pier-head bc!f«)re. 

The local potentate seemed to be aware that he would have to 
throw away a little of his grand manner it he meant to be effect- 
ive. It was not easy for Roderick Leslie to look anything else than 
an overbearing, all-powerful personage. He had it all his own way 
at Ruddeisdale; he had no other experience than that of absolute, 
uncontrolled rule; he carried the marks of his experience in every 
movement of his person, from his stride to his frown. 

“ Having a little bit ot a preliminary talk anent the digging — 
'Ch?” he asked, with a gracious inclination toward Russell, and a 
scrutinizing keenness of glance in the direction of XixXon. 

” We are,” said all of the voices in unison. 

‘‘ Now, then, you are here altogether, 1 want to make a proposal 
to you; 1 want you to take wages from me, and give me the use of 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


73 


your spades and your experience, instead ot tlirowinp; it away on 
cbance-woik. I’m prepared to put dcwn one or two tliundeiiug 
big shafts. Will you work for me? — say, will you take the oiler? 
1 make it to every man of you. My foreman is sitting there among 
you. Speak up, Eussell; tell them that for me they may dig and 
have their victuals; for themselves they may dig and starve.” 

” I’ve been a fortniglit here, Mr. Leslie,” said Armstrong, 
” standing round your bank-door asking for a permit. 1 don't 
want wages; 1 want permission to dig on my own account; 1 can 
get wages anywhere. 1 want gold, and I’ll risk the starvation.” 

Leslie did not answer him; he only looked steadily through the 
group, and said that ” no permits W'ould be issued— that all tres- 
passers w^ouid be prosecuted.” 

“It’s too late to say that,” replied Nixon, removing his pipe, 
and looking at the banker. ” 1 know two nermits that are signed 
and paid for, and 1 mean to commence when 1 like on any shingle 
beach between Ruddersdale and Cnoc Dim.” 

Leslie did not reply; he only looked at the speaker with narrow- 
ing eyes, then turning on his heel, as it he had been too long ofl; 
his pedestal, he moved up the pier, having exclaimed — 

‘‘ Settle it with Russell. lie know'S the terms; he will tell you 
how' to arrange.” 

Then commenced a great ” talkee-talkee ” among the diggers, 
away from w'hora Nixon moved. He felt that he had not said 
enough to the tanker, lie must have the ground thoroughly cleared 
for his work, and not be hampered with thoughts of trespassing. 
So he followed him to the town bridge, where he w^as contemplat- 
ing the lush of the water. As Ni.xon approached him he seemed 
to start and cower before he recovered himself to lock as overbear- 
ing as usual. 

” 1 must have this settled,” said Nixon in a plain, downright 
way. ” One of these days 1 shall be at w'ork on the alluvium, and 
1 must know ttiat 1 am not to be interrupted by any of your men 
declaring me a trespasser.” 

The banker’s lace changed at once. lie looked as near benig- 
nance as he was capable of approaching. 

‘‘ Oh! Mr. Nixon, it’s you. There's a diflereuce in your case. 
You have my permission, sir, to dig wherever you like. 1 don’t 
Vant to cancel the permit.” 

He talked as it his valleys contained gold tor the picking up.. 

“ Thanks. I’m much obliged to you.” 


74 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Oh, you are going this way too, are you?" as Nixon turned 
into a side path Itading up the liver. 

" 1 don’t mind much vrhere 1 go at this hour. I liad half thought 
of going through the plantation behind tlu town; but this is just 
as good a way as the other, 1 can walk with you so far.” 

“ Thanks," said the banker with a sinister tone to his voice; 
** I’m much obliged to you." Nixon did not notice it. " You are 
putting up at Mrs. llarpei’s?" 

" Yes Jihe’s a good old-tashioned cieature, who looks to the 
comfort of her guests." 

" Ay." 

‘‘ It’s an amusing little house; 1 rather like living in ii. There’s 
so much goes on in it, and one hears the gossip ot a hundred years 
in it. ’ 

" That won’t do 3"ou much good." 

" That depends upon circumstances— 1 say, by ,Tove, that slip 
of yours very nearly sent me head-foremost into that pool." 

The banker was profuse in his apologies. lie had, indeed, fallen 
all his weight on Nixon from a side path, and the latter only 
escaped from being precipitated over a crag by laying hold of an 
armful of gorse. 

" I’m not sure that it wouldn’t have finished me if 1 had gone in 
there. 1 can canoe that rapid, but if I had taken it headforemost 
— w’ell, there’s no use speculating about vhat might have hap- 
pened; only 1 feel as if 1 had made a narrow escape from being 
killed. You are a good weight." 

" It was a stupid and dangerous slip tor me to make,” said Les- 
lie, whose jaws became unaccountably yellow as he looked at Nixon. 

“ Oh, don’t bother about it," said the latter: it was nothing. 
1 was saying 1 liked that little house of Nancy’s, because there is 
the gossip of a hundred years in it. I’m rather interested in Rud- 
dersdale gossip— particularly in one incident, about which, how- 
ever, it’s diOScult to get any light— any bright light. Yen remem- 
ber, of course, the romance ot a little girl being brought ashore 
from a foreign wreck, right out of a storm— a young babe who was 
taken over by Sheriff Duvie from your hands?— 1 say, though, how 
do you happen to he looking at me in that way? Tou surely don’t 
know, yourself, the expression your face wears— all thunder and 
Jaundice. I’m not aware that I’ve said or done anything to incur 
your detestation; or are you ill?" * 

Leslie made some ghastly contortions of his face, said he was not 
very w^ell, and had net, indeed, been able to listen to what Nixon 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


75 


had been saying to him. lie was better now, though, and would 
listen. What had he to say. abDut the romantic incident? Was he 
there to inquire about it? Did lie know the sherifl? Did he know 
the girl? Did he understand the circumstances of the case? 

“ 1 don’t mind saying that I know the girl intimately, and that 
] should be very pleased to make any little discovery 1 could about 
her.” 

“ Ay,” said Leslie; and as they approached a swampy margin to 
the river, over which they had to get by hop-step-and-leap, the con- 
versation stopped for a time. 

” 1 wonder at a young man like you,” commenced Leslie, with 
all his own manner restored to him, ” taking up with a foolish 
notion of finding gold, when jmu have a profession to make your 
way upon. They tell me you are an advocate— an advocate! and 
you came north on cur mail-coach to riddle dirt, hoping to find 
wiiat would remunerate you for your trouble. Why, man, from 
every point of view it’s the behavior of an idiot.” 

1 was led to believe that you had faith in the supply. Indeed,., 
since 1 came here 1 have seen or heard something of a company 
starting to work the ore. What’s idiotic about my doing fcr my- 
self what a conpanv is doing for the excellent British public?” 

” 1 think you are abcut as simple a character as the shepherd 
who first brought me the intelligence.” 

‘ Oliver Gun? ’ 

Again Leslie looked as it he were ill. 

ISixon remarked the change in his face, and disliked his symp- 
toms: they seemed to indicate so much personal hostility to him- 
self. But he offered him his sympathy, which was accepted with- 
out words. When he had quite recovered, and looked less like a 
man longing to co.mmit a murderous assault, Nixon asked him— 

‘‘Is there anything peculiarly simple about the shepherd?” 

” ^ye have nothing to do with the shepherd,” said the other. 

‘‘ But 1 see you, a young man, throwing away ycur opportunities 
— your brilliant opportunities — of making your name and your 
fame at the bar, and coming away up here, a small fishing-station 
on a odd coast, with no opportunities of fortune for any, and estab- 
lishing yourself at work which can only last but a brief period. 
Go back, man, to your Parliament flcuse, and take up the gcwu you 
have cast off. You are nothing but a waif and a vagabond bere; 
lliere you are no worse than scores of others, even it you are badly 
off for mone}'. Don't 1 know? Haven’t 1 supplied the courts witli 


76 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


more cases than any factor out of the north, and haven’t 1 the 
experience requisite for advising you?” 

‘‘It’s very good cf you, Mr. Leslie, to take such a fatherly in- 
terest in me — very good, I’m sure; and 1 would be indebted to 
you it 1 could undeistand your rapid alteralicus of mannei, from 
one which looks like a savage inlenlion to assault me, to another 
which patronizes me with as much affection as if 1 belonged to you. 
i quite appreciate all you say about the Parliament House, but you 
will allow me to know the details of my own life better than you. 
1 don’t stand in need of advice. Heaven knows, I’ve had enough 
of advice in my day to establish a college of sages in a good going 
business. But my experience of it is, that it is about as perma- 
nently useful as a pinch of snuff, and a hanged deal more aggra- 
vating at the time.” 

“A young man knows everything,” said Leslie. “Positively 
everything. Give him five-and-twenty years— 1 suppose that’s 
about your spell— and there’s nothing in heaven or earth, or behind 
the veil, that he doesn’t know as well as the Creator Himself.” 

“No; 1 make no pretensions to omniscience.” 

“ That’s well. It’s a wise man, they say, Ibat knows his own 
father. ’ ’ 

It was now Nixon’s turn to start and look a little ill. 

“ My sagacity,” he said, bitterl 3 % “ ends at my father. 1 don't 
know him. 1 never knew him. If 1 knew him 1 should not be 
standing on the edge of this bitter moor looking into the Rudder 
with you.” 

“ Come, come,” said Leslie, with a touch of softness in his voice. 

This alters the case. Then you have no subsistence at the bar. 
You are without funds, you are without friends, you are a waif and 
without briefs. Now look at me, Mr, Nixon. 1 command a con- 
siderable field of law. I can see that briefs are sent you. Back 
you go to Edinburgh and you will have business.” 

“ Ah! I have known such jolly fellows in the country over their 
tenth tumbler make me just such promises. But— but Mr. Leslie, 
the business never came. The jolly promisers forgot aP about it 
when I was out of sight. Excuse me if 1 am a little skeptical.” 

Again a fit of illness overtook Mr. Leslie. Nixon turned aside 
from the footpath in case he should be leaned upon. Then of a 
sudden, with the force of an explosion, Leslie burst out: 

“ Then, curse you, what are you here for? Are you here to spy 
upon me? Are you here from the Court of Session? But you’ll 
find you’re dealing wnth the wrong man for once.” 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


77 


A.n apoplectic flush lusbed over his face, and Lie stopped for 
^ords. 

“ A^oii are giving yourself a quantity of unnecessary trouble about 
me, Mr. Leslie. I’ve been every wheie over Scotland, and no man 
ever stopped to ask me ichy 1 was here or there — no man until 1 
hare come across you. Keep your mind easy. 1 am not here to 
spy upon yon.” 

” What have you got to do with Mina Duiie?” he burst out 
“ Isn’t she well enough under a good man’s protection? Can’t ycu 
let well alone? Why, man, she may be a fish-brat, tor aught you 
know. Isn't she better to remain as she is than reveit to that 
through overcuilosity? Go back, man, to Parliament House and 
practice your profession.” 

” We’re not hitting it oS, Mr. Leslie; good-evening. You will 
allow me to mind my own business.” 

Nixon returned to the town, but Leslie leaned up against a cairn 
of stones and looked toward the mountains. A far time came back 
to his memory, a time of youth and lawlessness which he thought 
be had buried forever. But no, the dead past was yielding up 
ghosts to menace him. His respectability, his hold over Budders- 
dale, his very liberty to go and corre, were all threatened. His lifo 
seemed tumbling in ruins about bis cars. But, by heaven! ho 
would make a fight of it. He would not be driven from place and 
power at the ncd of the first birkie who came^out of the south. 
Birkie must be less inquisitive, or — Again Mr. Leslie of Rudders- 
•dale looked exceedingly ill. 


CHAPTER XV. 

UP THE MOUNTAIN. 

Nixon had never paid a visit to Cnoc Dim so as to reach the 
summit. It wf s a peculiarity of his that when in the neighborhood 
of mountains, or, indeed, of anything shooting into the air, he al- 
-ways longed to be on the top, and it was only a question of time 
with him when he should reach it. He set aside a day for himself 
to get up Cnoc Dim, that be might the better understand the 
strange land into which he had fallen. The day after his talk with 
Leslie he hail nothing better to do than resume his exploration. 
There was the mountain, and thcie was — yes, there was the girl by 
ithe way, he bad met on Loch Dirlot. He shouldn’t in the least 


78 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


mind seeing her again. lie would rather like to see her. His 
short engagement with Mina had given him a glimpse into the 
charm ot companionship with women who were capable of aftec- 
tion. Ue did not care for this girl’s afiection in the least. A shep- 
herd’s daughter on the mountains! All he should care about was. 
the suggestion she should make of another love for another. It he 
were vicariously reminded, that was enough tor him. Perhaps he 
would not have thought cf her at all in connection with Cnoc Hhu, 
had he net mentioned to Nancy Harper that on the island beyond 
the mountain he had lighted upon a Highland young lady who had 
once occupied the same room as he was now in himself. 

“ You’re jokin’, sir,’’ said Nancy. “There’s nobody goes on 
that loch from year’s end to year’s end, but Duncan Elder and Oliver 
Gun— and, maybe, Elspeth.” 

“ Very well, Mrs. Harper, it was just Elspeth 1 met there. Be- 
lieve me, Elspeth is what they 'would consider a beauty in the 
south 1 don’t know what they consider her here, there are so 
many pretty female faces, though none quite like Elspeth’s She 
has so much dignity of carriage, so much reserve of grace, and 
such an attractive shyness.’’ 

“ Poor lassie!” said Mrs. Harper, with emotion; “ I’m fonder d’ 
Elspeth than of ony lassie ever lived. 1 can not say what my own 
would have turned oot had she lived. Ay, ay — weel, weel— God 
knows best; it was for my sins she was removed!” 

“That’s not how things happen, Mrs. Harper. 1 know one of 
the wickedest sinners on earth, who has broken nearly every law in 
the Decalogue, and he has a family of the most beautiful daughters.” 

“A weel, they’ve been made daughters instead o’ sons for hie 
sins.” 

“ There’s no arguing with you. There are some funny anom- 
alies in the world.'” 

“ Aweel, I’ve seen an ill faured tree loaded with fine fruit in 
autumn. But that Elspeth, she just beats everything 1 ever saw; 
the een that she has when she’s standin’ at that window', lookin’ 
oot ower the sea. fehe’ll say, ‘ That’s a big, big ship yonder, Nan- 
cy.* She ca’s me Nancy, puir thing, tho’ I’ve a wed kent-hoose, 
and she’s but a shepherd’s daughter. She’ll say, ‘ That’s a big 
ship,’ an’ no ship to be seen. An’ I’ll say, ‘ Hoot awa wi’ your 
nonsense, la'Ssie; it’s you thai dina ken the sea and the white faem 
o’t, an’ the drivin’ cloods, and the trails o’ snawy mist. There’s 
nae sail there ava.’ And she’ll slick till’t, an’ say, ‘Nancy, it’s 
a big ship, forby the smacks in the harbor. I can count the sails.* 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


70 


An’ a pilot-body or a fisherman will come in, an’ tlu}’-’!! say, ‘ ISbip, 
ship — a}', there’s a ship; a clipper cornin’ rdond vvi’ timber trao 
Quebec, maist likely for Leith.’ Now, she’s richt efttr a’, ye see. 
Oh, sic an e’e, and sic a han’ an’ airm, an’ fit, an’ middle. Eh, 
Elspeth’s just the perfecticn o’ a lass for a young man’s fancy.” 

” Tes, she’s a wonderful product ot the mountains,” said Nixon. 

“I’m going up that way. Will 1 say that you sent your Ioto to 
her?” 

” A.y, ay, do that, Mr. Nixon, Ye micht, if ye have room in 
your pack, put in a bit book c’ sangs out o’ the sooth. Elspetli 
-can read, and her father’s a great man for a book, if he can come 
by it without too much expense. No, I’ll no’ put bannocks in your 
pack, for they go all to meal. You’re safer wi’ loaf-bieed an’ twa^ 
three cauld cuts o’ tioof, wi’ your flask. Comieg, coming!” 

Nixon set out for Cnoc Dim fiom the high crags to the north ot 
Ruddersdale, and came round upon the base ot the mountain above 
the shepherd’s bouse. Ue looked for the shieling for a long time 
without finding it. It was as difficult to find as a wren’s nest in a 
bank of clay; nothing more cunning than a wren at building and 
concealing her large mansion of moss and feathers. A shepherd’s 
shieling in a mountain swept by the storms ot the north, is as craft- 
ily disposed to elude inspection. At last, however, Nixon came 
upon it, by follcwing the burn wdiere the gold bad been first dis- 
<;overed. He had not been there before; he noted how neatly every- 
thing was disposed beneath the shelving dill — the slack ot peats to 
the side of the shieling, the flower-pots in the windows, the white- 
wash ot the walls, the ash-tree hedge of the little garden, one of 
the trees containing the large nest of a magpie, the overflew ot the 
bum earned by a pipe into a rocky basin — everything struck him 
as cleanly, healthy, pretty. As he stepped down the hewn side of 
the dusky cliff above the house the shepherd's wife came out and 
looked at him. She had seen him from a side window. She had 
not many visitors at the shieling; and as she had years ago given 
np visiting Ruddersdale she was net very familiar with faces, 

‘‘\ou will be JMrs. Gun,” said Nixon. ”1 came along from 
Ruddersdale, rowed up the Cranberry burn as far as it runs, and 
walked across the moors. I’m rather w^at about the feel and legs. 
1 thought 1 should come in on you and ask a few questions about 
Cnoc Dhu.” 

‘‘Surely, surely, sir,” said Mrs. Gun. “Come your ways in, 
sir, and sit down. Elspeth, come, here's a gentleman from Rud' 
dersdale. You’ll be trem the bank?” 


9 


80 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


Elspetli came lo the door, drying her hands, and, to her mother’s 
surprise, she exclaimed 

“ Oh, it’s 3’ou, is it? And are j'ou very well, indeed? 1 met 
him, mother, on the island ot Diilot. Father knows him, too.” 

” You’ll be hungry alter your walk,” said Mrs, Gun. 

” Yes, rather. But Kancy Harper put some kippers into my 
pack, and 1 haven’t eaten them yet. if you’ll give me the use of 
a chair, I’ll sit and eat under your root-tree.” 

” Surely,” said Mrs. Gun, who did not dislike the look oi the 
youth. ” Elspeth, lay the clotn.” 

They laid it, and JNixon began to eat. 

‘‘ The shepherd’s up the mountain,” said his wife to one of his 
inquiries. ” You see he has to follow the sheep, and they’re very 
keen to get their feed high up when the weather breaks. No, no, 
he never loses any of them. What would he lose his sheep for? 
Dear me, a sheep’s not a silly animal at all. You’re very far wrong 
to think the like o’ that. Don’t they all know Cnoc Dhu, every 
sheep o’ them? And don’t they know their cwn lee corners and 
their own craig (ops? Surely, sir, as well as you know ycur own 
home in the south. VVe had an old tup, w'e used to call him Rod- 
erick, after Mr. Leslie, and no disrespeci to him whatever. Well, 
he was* sold away over the mountains to a man who keeps a farm 
on the West. We was very sorry lo part with Roderick, for he 
came a great deal about the shieling. But what does he do? He 
walks across the mountains a week after he was sold — ay, 3, hun- 
dred miles and more; and Oliver, he says, ‘ ’Deed, I’ll never say a 
word about it. The poor tup can just bide where he Is.’ And 
there he is to this hour.” 

“I’m anxious to get to the top of Cnoc Dhu to day,” said Nixon. 
** Do you think the shepherd could go up wilh me?” 

” Well, Elspeth, you can take the gentleman up as far as your 
father is; but 1 wouldn’t say that the mist isn’t on the summit, 
and if that’s the case, you’ll not win further than the bottom of the 
crags. Surely, lassie, you can go up if you like. Take the gentle- 
man round by the view above Dirlol, and show him the birds flying 
above the islands.” 

Elspeth and Nixon ascended the steps above the shieling together, 
and got on to a broad table-land of moor. 

‘‘ It’s very pleasant to see you so soon again,” said Elspeth, 
When they bad started together. ” That’s Roderick there, see, the 
old tup that my mother was talking about. He doesn’t go very far 
away from the house now. He’s getting an aged tup.” 


cliADLE AND SPADE. 


81 


“ What au old formidable blackguard! lie has a face as black 
as black. 11 is horns are like autlers.” 

“ Oh, Roderick can beat any tup on the mountain, but lie’£ tired 
of ij;. See, he’s away to the back of that big rock to get the lee. 
lie knows you’re a stiauger. Now, we’U begin to go straight up 
till we get on the crags overlooking. Dirlct. I’ll go before you and 
show you the way. I’ll not go very fast, because it’ll take the 
wind from you, and that’s not good. We’ll hnd my father some- 
where about there, lie’s counting the lambs to-day. They’re very 
fine, strong, healthy lambs the year.” 

” 1 say, you certainly have a magnificent pair of lungs. 1 con- 
sider myself rather a mountaineer, but 1 can’t address myself to the 
face of a steep ridge, exactly as it it were a level road. Hold cn a 
littlel 1 must turn and look back.” 

” Sit flown, then, and look about you, and I’ll wait. But you 
lose your wind very soon. ” 

He sat down on a loose rock. Elspeth, wdth her knuckles in her 
sides, stood above him, looking back, too. They saw over a broad 
expan.se of moor-land. Indeed there was nothing but a long brown 
undulation of moor, dipping here and there into a valley with a 
glistening stream, rising into a lesser mountain than Cnoc Dhu— 
undulating and dipping mile upon mile, until, as it seemed, there 
was a fringe liue the sea in the horizon. He asked if it were the 
sea. 

‘‘No, not yet,” said Elspeth; ‘‘higher up, on the very lop of 
Cnoc Dhu, we can see the sea; not so low down as this. That’s 
blue sky. Indeed, 1 don’t know it it’s sk}' at all. It’s blue dis- 
tance 1 think.” 

Nixon rose from bis stone, and Elspeth set oft in front of him, 
springing lightly from ridge to ridge, throwing back speech at him 
as she ascended, encouraging him amidst difficulties, laughing at 
his halts, and, finally helping him with a storng right arm to the 
rocky plateau which overlooked Dirlot Icch, where they had first 
met. 

” 1 thought 1 could climb,” said Nixon; ” now 1 know that I’ve 
got the art to learn. You run up a mountain.” 

” Don't 1 belong to Cnoc Dhu? Isn’t it as well known to me as- 
to these?” pointing to a group of sheep nibbling roots, wliile some 
hardy young lambs leaped in the air and made eccentric spiral mo- 
tions with their legs. 

‘‘ True, but they are lambs, and you are—” 

‘‘ Here’s my father.” 


82 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


“ 1 took you tor the Duke of Burrows, sir,” said the shepheid, 
coming down from behind a blind of turf, where he appeared to 
have been dozing; “he rometimes comes up Cnoc Dhu. We’re 
uot to look at him it he comes. We’re not even to lift a hat to 
him. If we do, we’re dismissed cn the spot, it we’re on the Biu- 
Tows propert 3 ^ You a little resemble him, sir. Have you any busi- 
ness on the mountain, wi’ the sheep like, or the ferns, or the geol- 
ogy, or the— heh! hehl— the goold?’' 

“ Kot much, Mr. Gun, of that sort. Only 1 am trying to bring 
back to the memory of old inhabitants a peiiod when a ship came 
ashore and a babe was cairied from it to Roderick Leslie’s house. 
Bo you happen to remember that period?” 

The shepherd took out his crook from beneath his left elbow, 
planted it firmly on the ground, seemed to lean on it heavily, gazed 
into the horizon, evading meanwhile the gaze of his interlocutor; 
then, with a slightly lowering look as he gathered his plaid about 
him, replied — 

“ Are you personally interested in the finding of the child? Is it 
your business to find her? Has Sir — 1 mean, has anything been 
heard of her father? Am 1 at liberty to answer you with perfect 
freedom, as a man giving his opinion of his recollections, without 
any use being made of them?” 

The shepherd seemed to remember more than anybody Rixon 
had cpiestioned. Nixon recollected that he was himself a lawyer. 

“ Shepherd,” be said, “ if you know anything of that child and 
the circumstances of her delivery into the bands of Roderick Leslie, 
tell me. I am engageci in the law. 1 will see that you are reward- 
ed for speaking the truth.” 

7 he shepherd locked at Elspeth, who on a distant margin of the 
cliff was looking down on Dirlot, and replied — 

“ Come down to my house, and I’ll give you my notion.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 
usher’s turn. • 

Poverty is not the best pride for ambition, though it is the bride 
to which ambition is otten enough temporarily w^edded. In Frank 
Usher’s case it assorted badly with his entire plans of life. He 
was as ambitious as it is possible for a young man to be. He saw 
himself toiling Ihiough a period of years of cheap briefs, and reach- 
4ng a point when he might be as fastidious as he chose. He looked 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


83 


iorwarcl to a day when he sliould head his faculty and go into 
Parliurcent. He saw himself come out of Parliament to ascend the' 
Bench, and in that dignified retrial expound the laws of his country. 
In the glory of titled neutrality knoTrn as paner lord^lPp he would 
have realized all the hapiduess which he believed life possessed. 
In the meantime, however, to keep himself in his modest state of 
apparent independence, he must set his hands to what he would 
have been spared had he been born rich. He must, for example, 
draw upa prospectus tor a stock-broker, setting forth tliat gold was 
to be found at the Alarnock Firth, Had it been anything but gold 
he would have gone to work on his prospectus with the assurance- 
of ignorance. If it had been a company for the extraction of whale- 
oil, or for the compression of peats, or the collection in unparallelecl 
quantities of herrings, he would have drawn it with enthusiasm. 
But gold! However, he swallowed his scrunles, drew out the pros- 
pectus, leaving blanks for his friend the stock-broker to nil up when 
there were figures to insert. It was one of the things he would 
rather not have done. He did it believing that the sooner he got 
through the muddier necessities of his profession the earlier should 
he begin to wade in clear water. The question of Mina Durie’s 
heritage, which he had raised at Durie Den, weighed on his mind 
a good deal in those days. He had seen Leslie’s response to the 
languid inquiries of the sherifl, and his summary to himself of the 
situation was: “ Old fogies! Can’t be bothered investigating. 
Quite satisfied with things as they are. (Sheriff can’t think of 
dropping his ward, now that she is permanently established at his 
fireside. But old fogydom must be dutiirled. Justice will have 
to be done. If the girl be Mina Dunbealh! By Jove!— if she be,, 
and 1 am the heaven-appointed advocate who is to take up her 
brief! What a case! Plead her cause, and marry her! 1 wish 
wives gave their titles to their husbands, though. Let me see, how 
does it sound? Lady Dunbeath and Mr. Frank Usher; no — is a 
baronet’s daughter a lady^ship? 1 think not. But it would not be 
so suspicious-looking, after 1 had ascended the Bench and traveled 
with her in foreign hotels, ns signing mj^self Lord Usher, while she 
signed herself plain Mrs. Usher. And 1 am to meet her and the 
Finlays to-day at the Picture Gallery. Lady Dunbealh— yes, 1 have 
a correct presentiment that she is the heii.” 

He had an appointment that day to meet Mina and her friends, 
Geity and Bessie Finlay, at the door of the National Gallery. 

“ Poor Nixon!” he thought; ‘‘ he is out of it— no hope for him 
now.” And perhaps there was some truth in the reflection; for 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


Si 


Mina, though she had pledged herself to Nixon, was not beyond 
reach of the opinion of her friends. She had heard what they 
thought; how they regarded Nixon as, on the whole, a poor creat- 
ure who was not of much consideration. She knew that the sheriff 
regarded him in the same light, while she saw that Usher liad all 
his approbation. In the first instance it had turned her heart more 
toward Nixon. She had gone up to the hcllow tree, and wept in 
it tor a good hour at a time, and called him her knight and her true 
love, and said to herself that she would die for him or live only till 
he had succeeded in his search, or searching, come back to tell her 
that he had done his best and she was now his. 

Usher stood on the steps of the Rcyal Academy when the sheriff’s 
•carriage drove up. The sheriff was not in it; only the three girls. 
Oerty and Bessie were very glad to have the opportunity of meet- 
ing Usher. They had met him before, and were not without a la- 
tent hope that the brilliant rising advocate might cast an eye of ap- 
preciation on one or other of them. 

“Dearest Mina,” Gerty had said on the way to the Academy, 
“ it’s so good of you to give us a chance of meeting him.” 

“ Dearest Gerty,” Mina had said, “ you are welcome to him.” 

“ If our noses were only different 1” said Bessie. 

Usher stepped down, hat in hand, as if the gallery weie bis own, 
and he were introducing some friends into it. The girls were quite 
pleased at their chaperon. He looked distinguished, though his 
face was pale— distinsuished, with the fire of intellect in his eye. 
Gerty and Bessie both thought they would engage themselves to 
him at the first asking, if he only advanced that tar. 

“ Everybody says it’s a first-rate exhibition,” said Usher, address- 
ing Mina, and leading tne way to the wicket. He bought three 
catalogues, handed them round, and taking possession of Mina, 
began generalizing. Bessie and Gerty were disappointed: he 
seemed to be conscious only of Mina’s presence. 

“There’s not much in the Nrrth Octagon,” he began, “but 
enough, as you may see in a glance, to show that they have hacj 
foul weather for their work.” 

“ How do you mean?” said Gerty, determined that she at least 
was not to be ignored at the side of an engaged girl. 

“ 1 mean that when the artists go out and find their mountains, 
rocks, and bays enveloped in mist, they bring back their weather 
with them. Observe how from floor to roof the gallery is filled 
with pictures of mist. 1 don’t think it’s fair ot them. Mist and 
mystery are all very w’ell in pcetry and descriptive prose, but when 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


85 


you come to having it on canvas it looks to me like men shirking 
their work.'* 

“ Bessie clear," said Gerty, “ did you know that Bobby Bertram 
liad a picture in the gallery? He is numbered 1065 in ray cata- 
logue. That’s very mischievcus of Bobby; he never said anything 
about it; he is ever so much cleverer than 1 thought be was.” 

” Tc my mind,” pursued Usher, still addressing Mina, ‘‘ there’s 
only one picture in the I^oilh Octagon.” 

‘‘ \Vhicli one?” 

” Loch Dirlot.” 

‘‘No. 5?” 

” It has, for one thing, been taken without mist, and that shoul- 
der of mountain stands up as solid as any granite crag 1 ever saw. 
'i'ou could almost put your hands on the lower shelves and climb 
up. Come back a little way and look at it. Never mind that old 
man stooping at it, and showing us an ungainly back view of him- 
self. AVhat a tiresome old donkey 1” 

They waited for a little until the individual who presented the 
l)ack view should go away, but he showed no signs of caring to 
•depart. 

‘‘ 1 say, my good man,” remarked Usher, advancing to him, put- 
ting his hand upon bis shoulder, and with a high patronizing voice 
exclaiming, ‘‘ you ought to remember there are more people in the 
North Octagon than you. That picture was painted for the public, 
1 believe.” 

The girls tittered, but the individual declined tc move; when he 
did turn, however. Usher instantaneously dofled his hat, and ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ I beg pardon, m’ lud; 1 had no idea it was you.” 

” It’s not a picture at ail,” said my lord, presenting to the group 
a face in which a pair of keen searching eyes looked over a massive 
unshaped nose, beneath which the jaws had the aspect of nut- 
crackers. 

” No,” said Usher, recalling his previous opinion with instan- 
taneous promptitude, ” 1 agree with you. 1 think the harmony of 
water and sky is outraged, and the rock is—” 

** It’s otherwise interesting,” said his lordship, ‘* from the cir- 
cumstance that it is from these shores we are geing to supply the 
mint in the future.” 

And his lordship emitted a low chuckle. He put up ^ pince-nez ^ 
and turning a searching eye upon Mina, he said: 

‘‘ 1 seem to have some recollection of 3mur face.” 


CliADLE AKD SPADE. 


8G 

“ Miss Durie— Lord Straven,” said the advocate, “ Lord StravetK 
— the Misses Finlay.” 

Mina recoiled, for it vraa the judge who had snubbed Joseph; hut 
Gerty and Bessie came forward and shook hands with the old man,. 

” "lYhat does the sheiift think of the exhibition. Miss Duiie?” 

” He hasn’t been yet, my lord.” 

“ I’m afraid he’s occupying too much of his lime with his ‘ Em..- 
inent Scotch Sheriffs.’” And again my lord emitted a chuckle,, 
not on low as the previous one. ” Never mind me,’' he added, 
waving them unceremoniously into the Great Room; ‘‘ 1 laKe my 
own time to look at them, and Uiough 1 recognize, Mr. Usher, that 
pictures are painted for the public, I’m not going to deny myself 
the privilege of examining them at close quarters and in an attitude 
which may be less dignified than is befitting one of her majesty’s 
judges, because that attitude may not be the one you choose to 
adopt, accompanied as you are by these young ladies. Good day, 
good-day.” And he returned to his dorsal manner, to the amuse- 
ment ot Gerty, wdio stuffed her handkerchief in her mouth to pre.. 
vent herself laughing. 

But Usher looked ^ery serious, and interrupted the fit of giggling 
by the remark, ‘‘ He is a magnificent critic of pictures. He has 
made a noble collection in his house, and there is no one whose- 
opinion is so much sought after by artists. 1 tvisli 1 hadn’t pa- 
tronized him. I’ll get it hot lor that some fine afternoon when I’m 
pleading at my best in the Outer House.” 

They were now well into the Great Room. There was a crowd 
in it. 

“ Oh lovely!” burst out Gerty, seeing inimitable dresses to the 
light and left ot her. 

‘’Gerty, have more self-restraint,” whispered Bessie, while 
Usher and Mina stood apart. 

Mina was thinking of the judge’s remark about the mint, and 
wondering whether Loch Dirlot had anything to do with Joseph. 
Usher was murmuring that ” art was long and life was short.” 

And, indeed, the en' ranee into the Great Room was calculated 
to impress any observer. How the invisible workers had wandered 
into the land ot the Beautiful, and what spoil they had brought 
back! They had gone into tbe glens, and brought hack mountains; 
they had gone down to the sea in ships, and mirrored the billows 
breaking on the headlands; they had stood by the rivers, and ren- 
dered their pcols and their w'aterfalls as Nature might he proud to 
render them; they hail searched the harbors, and carried away 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


87 


qunint Dutch faces and sea beaten expressions. From the maiket- 
place they had taken women ehalteiin^; from the fields men plow- 
ing, girls milking, boysheiding; they bad set down baskets of fruit 
ripe and lush, flowers and leaves in the perfection of their shape. 
There nere little maidens from soiitbern climes; other skies hung 
o»rer them than Scotland boasted; other sunrises and sunsets lay 
dreaming on the canvas; springs wldch strewed the world with 
unknown herbage; summers which brought strange languor upon 
the land; and autumns whose fruits were the grape, the orange, 
and the pomegranate. 

“ 1 can take my hat off here. Miss Durie,” said the advocate, 
“ and cari}’' it under my arm. The men to whom w^e decree neg- 
lect and vagabondage do all that.” 

Gerty had disappeared, and at that moment returned. 

“ I’ve seen Bobby Bertram's picture. Such a thing as it is! 
Right out of sight at the top of the North Room. Tou never saw 
anything so perfectly hideous. 1 wo pigs in a sty, and they haven’t 
the shape of pigs either. I'll never speak to Bobby again for doing 
anything so hideous.” 

Nobody listened to Gerty, however, though her indignation 
seemed to cause some amusement to the b 3 'standers who didn’t 
know her. 

Bessie only looked at her, to remark — 

“ Well, really, Gerty, to be an engaged girl, Mina is looking very 
queer at Mr. Usher.” 

” Yes, indeed. One would suppose that there wasn’t such a per- 
son as aMr. Nixon at all. Mina,” added Gerty, breaking in upon 
the apparent sentimentalism of aspect of the pair, ” what did that 
old man mean about the mint? What did he mean, Mr. Usher?” 

“ 1 didn't quite take him,” said the advocate, v^ho understood 
perfectly what he meant, but saw no reason why Joseph should be 
flaunted under the eye of Miss Durie; foi they advanced into the 
South Octagon, and toward the South Room they met common 
friends, who broke up the paity for a little, though Usher kept his 
attention fixed upon Mina. She had been exchanging remarks for 
a time with some one from the Castle, w’ho twirleil a heavy mustache 
heavily; and some other one from Jock’s Lodge, wdio made the 
bystanders aware that he was wearing spurs. Then she rapidly left 
them, and turned intc a room called the small Octagon. She was 
standing by herself, in front of a picture of two levers bidding each 
other good-bye betwmeu a hedge of roses. He had obviously only 
done kissing her, and the premonitory symptoms of departure were 


88 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


strong in tlie gatliering sorrow cf her brow and the tearful expres- 
sion of her eyes. 

“ They have given it a wretched bad light, and put it into the 
condemned cell,” said Usher softly. “ But 1 think there is a great 
deal of feeling in it; and the hedge-roses, which might have been 
spoileil by garishness, retain all the charms of the roses with a per- 
fect restraint in the ruddier tones. 1 think the heroine of the pict- 
ure is not unlike 3 "ou, Miss Durie.” 

Mina started visibly, and dropping her voice, as she looked to- 
ward the door, through which no one entered: 

“Curious that 1 should have been thinking that the— hero was 
not unlike Mr. Frank Usher 1 see no resemblance to myself. To 
you I can trace a distinct and happy likeness; only 1 should say 
the departing lover is a soldier, and not a lawyer.” 

“ Yes, you are right; 1 think he is probably an army man. 1 
wonder how it is that w^o poor fellows v ho hgve to deal with parch- 
ments, and w’hose hearts are quite as susceptible beneath stufi or 
silk as soldiers under uniform, are so seldom put into canvas in ap- 
propriately aftectiouate attitudes.” 

“ You are all so — so practical and—” 

“ And love demands the impracticable, the unreal, the — ” 

“ I don’t know what it is,” said Mina, “ but it would look odd — 
wouldn’t it?— to see old Lord Straven making love in a lane, or the 
lord justice clerk on his knees to some hard-hearted beauty who 
was spurning him; or the lord president marching oft to the altar, 
with the lord advocate or the solicitor -general acting as his 
groomsman. Somehow, it would not be so curious if a general 
W’as to do the same thing.” 

“You take the same view as the ai list,” sighed Usher; “and 
yet we lawyers all marry wives, and wives are not to be won with- 
out a little courtship among the roses.” 

Mina turned her eyes full upon him. Her face wore its most 
mischievous expresssion at the moment. Hs saw that he had not 
touched her heart, but that he had interested her. 

“ lam in earnest,” he said; and the mischievous light in her eyes 
died out of them. 

“ Oh, liere you are, are you? 1 thought 1 should pick you up 
somewhere,” said a voice from the door. 

It was the sheriff, and Mina, breathed freely as she turned round 
to greet him. 

“ Usher, did you happen to see Btraven drifting up the rocm? 
L>o you know what he says about Smeaton’s fairies — that waterside 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


89 


picture in the second room, you knovs% with the incomplete elves 
and fairies dueling amt bobbing among the leaves? "i" on saw it, 
Mina? Yes. Well, go into a coiner and turn your back till 1 tell 
Frank what Straven said.” 

‘‘Ell— what? I didn’t catch it,” observed Usher eagerly. 

“ That there was an inartistic absence of haunches among them,” 
whispered the sheiift. 

‘‘ Papa, dear, if you please,” said Mina, ” you will find me in 
the other room.” 

‘‘ And it’s a fact,” said the sheriff, looking contemptuously at 
the lovers in the lane. 


CHAPTER XVll. 

A MEAT.. 

Oliver Gun paused on the descent and gathered his faculties 
together. ‘‘ Like John Anderson and his jo,” be said after a lit- 
tle, ‘‘ Elspetli and you can gang doun the hill thegitlier. I’ll be at 
your back in*a wee.” The shepherd was afraid that in promising 
to give the stranger his ‘‘ notion,” he was deeply com mil ting him- 
self. lie paused, therefore, to get his full stock of caution, and to 
bethink himself how he might say the least about the subject to 
which the stranger had alluded. 

” I should like to stand for a quarter of an hour or so, overlook- 
ing Dirlot,” said Xixon; ” there’s nothing puls my spiiits up like 
a high wind, ll’s an occasion 1 always rise to. And there’s some- 
thing about this wind that speaks for itself of the JNortli Sea and 
the frosted pole te3^ond all.” 

‘‘ Your spirits would never be down, then, on this mountain,’’ 
said the shepherd. “ Elspeth ’ll show you anything you want 
pointed out to you. I’ll away to my lambs for a wee. It you’re 
not here when 1 come back. I’ll know that you have gone down to 
the house.” 

The pair stood looking over the plain of ruflled water. The wind 
blew Elspeth’s sun-hat over her shoulders and her hair broke loose. 
Isixon helped her to capture it again, and to imprison it within the 
sun hat. 

‘‘ There’s nobedy ever helped me to do that before,” said the girl. 
” Ts that the way the girls in the south — Oh, I’m just speaking 
foolish nonsense.” 

” When they are nice,” said Nixon, believing that he understood 
what she had intended to say. 


90 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


Elspptli looked over her shoulder toward the retreating figure of 
her tather. When Kixon next glanced at her, he perceived that 
her gray eyes were wistfully fastened upon him. 

“ Now, don’t you get tired of this,” he asked, ” from year’s end 
to year’s end? Of coifrse, I’m not going to disparage it. To me 
it’s earthly paradise. But all the year round, you know?” 

” Never,” said Elspeth. ‘‘ IVIay be 1 will when 1 come to grow 
older.” And a sigh went off on the breeze tvhich Nixon did not 
hear. 

‘‘ I can’t think what you find to do for twelve months on end — 
four ot them at least under scow.” 

” That’s what some of them think down in Ruddersdale town„ 
W’ho know no better. Nancy Harper has said the same to me— and 
others. But if you knew the changes that come over Onoc Dhu — 
if you knew that one month is always different from another 
month, that the heather on the hill is diflereni, the animals that run. 
on it and the birds that fly over it difterent, the. very burn difterent 
— you wouldn’t think as you do.’' 

”Yoii seem to have quite a personal feeling of championship 
about your old hill.” 

” It’s not a hill at all; it’s a mountain— the very loftiest of all 
the mountains. There’s no other that approaches it in magnifi- 
cence. 1 have a book at home where the person who saw it and 
printed about it said no ether approaches it in magnificence.” 

” You are quite in love with old Cnoc Dhu. He’s a respectable 
size of a lover to have.” 

” 1 don’t know anything about these things. But as father was- 
saying, we may as well gang doun the hill together. I’ll only allow 
you to call Cnoc Dhu a hill when you are speaking out ot an old 
song.” 

‘‘ Well, well, mountain be it,” and they began to descend. 

Nixon waited tor an hour or more in the shieling. Elspeth gave 
him her father’s fly-book to examine, and his comments showed 
the girl that he knew what he was talking about. He knew all 
about sea-trout and loch-trout; about smoults, and parr, and salm- 
on, how they came and went; how they were born, brought up,, 
persecuted by the otters and the birds, till they ended their lives, 
after a noble strugck, in the angler’s basket. She showed him her 
father’s Brown Bess, too, and was a little disconcerted when he 
pronounced it rather old-fashioned, and wondered how anybody 
could shoot anything with it. 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


91 


“But I suppose Mr. Gun doesn’t shoot much? 1 thought, in 
tact, that shepherds were not allowed to have guns at all,'’ 

“ And there you are right enough, too,” said the shepherd’s wife, 
looking at Elspeth with some anxiety. 

“ Ay, but my father’s not liKe any other shepherd. Mr. Ijoslie 
never would refuse him the use of his gun. What do you think 
would hapnen if tiie mountain foxes were to be allowed to have it 
all their own way, and to take a lamb or a fowl whenever they 
liked? Many’s the fox that gun has sent to his bng liome.’’ 

“He has shot eagles, too,’’ said Mrs. Gun. “There’s nothing 
he can not shoot, if Mr. Leslie will but allow him.’’ 

“ Then, indeed, you needn’t be so dull as 1 supposed.’’ 

“ We’re not dull at all,” said Mns. Gun, with a renewal of anx- 
iety, and lookjng toward Elspeth, who glanced at her and said — 

“ 1 wasn’t complaining, mother.” 

The shepherd having corked himself ud to his satisfaction, came 
tiown from Cnoc Dhu. It was such an unusual thing for a 
stranger to call and make inquiries, and concerning a date so far 
back as eighteen years. It was a new thing in his experience. He 
had indeed heard, the last time he was in Ruddersdale, that strange 
things were occurring in thesculh, which might ultimately affect 
Mr. Leslie and the Ruddersdale property from the Cncc Dhu to the 
sea. He had not, however, given much attention to the rumor; it 
was enough for him that Roderick Leslie was standing in his 
bank-parlor as large as life, which in this case was exceedingly 
large, round and vital. Cnoc Dhu rnighl crumble, thought the 
«hepherd, but Roderick Leslie could not be imagined out of his 
bank-parlor, oi away from the valley of Sir Thomas Dunbeath’s 
river. 

“ Thai’s father come down the mountain now,” said Elspeth, as 
his figure momentarily darkened the little casement of the shieling, 

“ Vou were longer than you said you would he, father.” 

“ Were you tliinking it long, sir?” 

“ Not a bit of it, Mr. Gun. it w’ould be a poor compliment to 
your wife and daughter if 1 were to weary after less than an hour 
of their company.” 

“ People from the south,” observed Mrs. Gun, “ say things in a 
very nice way. It’s a long time before you would say the like o’ 
that to Elspeth and me, Oliver.” 

“ It is the eddication,” remarked Oliver. “ 1 notice that the 
cddicatioD is a great advantage to a person in saying a thing nicely. 
1 would be looking atout me and scratching my head and think- 


92 


OKADLE AKD SPADE. 


ing about it all the time, and the nice thing would occur to me half 
an hour afterwards, when it’s not of any 

“ Oh, a compliment’s never thrown away, Oliver Gun.” 

” Be thankful wi’ what you have got, Christina,” said the shep- 
herd. 

Mrs. Gun set down a meal for the stranger. Tea was her great 
luxury. Tea she made, therefore, and with w^hat she called 
*’ crowdy in a bowl, and warm scones, and large eggs, and white 
rolls of butter, and an incisive appetite on Kixon’s part, he did 
nearly as well as the shepherd, who having asked a blessing, 
which rather cooled the tea, so long was it, pul aw'ay vast quanti-^ 
lies of everything in the most limited space of time. 

” VVe were talking up the hill,” said Nixon, ” about an accident 
which occurred.” 

The shepherd saw that his “notion” was to hfe broached; his 
mouth was full at the moment, but he interrupted Nixon vehemently 
with a sound like “ No-a-hi3\” 

“ A mountain, sir, it you please,” said Mrs. Gun. “ Not a hill, 
Oliver’s sajdng. Oliver, speak when you’ve swallowed your bite,, 
man; the gentleman ’ll no be accustomed to that sort of way of 
going on in the south.” 

“ Oh 3'es, Mrs. Gun, I’ve seen a man in the south with his mouth 
full, talking away. But, to be sure, nobody understood him but 
himself. We settleil that by the way— didn’t we. Miss GunV that 
Cnoc Dhu is not a hill, but a mountain.” 

“ No other approaches it in magnificence,” said Elspeth. 

“No, nor in kind hospitality,” added Nixon, chipping a fresh 
egg, “ However,” he continued, “ to gc back upon what we were 
saying higher up. There was a wreck in Marnock Bay something 
like eighteen years ago.” 

Oliver bolted a large “ bite ” with great expedition. 

“ Is that all jmu know, sir? A wreck! A w^reckl One wreck 
in eighteen years! There’s a score o’ ships ashore round and 
round the Marnock I irlh every winter. Theie’s been that withiu 
the living memory of man.” 

“ You're only interrupting the gentleman, Oliver. He wants to 
put a question to you.” 

The shepherd opened his jaws, and above his beard revealed a 
set of teeth as white as the collies’ which were sitting near the 
elbows of the companj’’ in a contemplative attitude. 

“ Now% 3'ou’re angry, father,” said Elspeih, “ about nothing.” 

“ No, I’m not angry, Christina Gun— very far from it. I’m not 


S. 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


93 


one wlio is given to useless puffs o’ wind. But ye know as well 
as I do that the Bay of Marnock is very little known to me -that 1 
am very much of a stranger in the Bay of Marnock, that the ships 
which have come ashore there, and the lives saved and the lives 
lost, are as little known to me as to the lassie.” 

lie speke with strong emphasis, and his eyes were fixed riport 
his wife’s face with so strong a glance of repression that INixon 
inwardly remarked, ‘‘ This man knows something 1 ought to 
know.” 

” You remember, however, 1 suppose, Mr. Gun— in fact, every- 
body remembers: 1 speak to nobody who doesn’t — you remember 
that there was a little girl brought asbore, of whom Boderick. 
Leslie took charge?” 

” 1 can not charge my memory with it, sir,” said the shepherd, 
moving uneasily in his chair, pushing that bit of furniture back, 
upon one of the dogs, who hcwled, and inserting two fingers into 
his vest pocket, from wirich he took out a brief cutty pipe. 

” Down in Buddersdale,” said Nixon,” everybody 1 talk to ha» 
gome recollection of the circumstance.” 

” Ay, you see, but we’re twenty miles from the ocean here — 
twenty long heather miles.” 

” Have you anv interest in the bit lassie?” asked Mrs. Gun. 

” The deepest interest in life,” said Nixon; ” she's my swecL 
heart. I’ve come up here to discover all 1 can about her. Wheir 
1 know how she came to be on your coast eighteen years ago, 1 
will be entitled to say to her, ‘ Now, be my wife.’ ” 

Mrs. Gun seemed alarmed. A shade of depression stole into- 
Elspelh’s face as she asked, almost tearfully, ” And do you think 
you will be long in finding her?” 

” Who can tell?” 

” 1 would like to give you a helping hand.” 

” And I’ll take it gladly.” 

‘‘ It’s a queer story,” said Oliver Gun. 

” You’re a real enterprising gentleman,” said Mrs. Gun, with an 
admiring accent to her voice. 

” We’ll be seeing some more of you it it’s j'our sweetheart 
3'ou’re after; she was here, and doesn’t know how.” 

” I’m here bor another reason, loo; I’m going to dig tor gold one 
of these days.” 

” Well, then,” said Elspeth with an exclamation of delight, ”1 
would be very glad to help you at it.” 


•94 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Tlie gentleman’s only joking,” said the smoking Oliver. ” I 
•■doubt if Elspeth hasn’t got all the gold there is, sir.” 

” Where there was a little, there will be more.” 

‘‘ I’m not taken up with the notion ot it,” said Mrs. Gun. 

” Down in Ruddersdale they are making preparations for any 
quantity ot it.” 

” Td think ot the like of that!” 

By and by Nixon rose, thanked his hosts for their kindness to 
liim, and offered to pay for his meal, which greatly shocked them. 

” Nobody ever paid tor a meal in this house,” said Oliver with 
much dignity. ” Nobody ever will.” 

‘‘lam sorry 1 offered it. Good-bye, all ot you.” 

He ascended the cliff above the shieling and got on to the moor- 
land again. The new season’s lapwings were w heeling over it and 
-shrieking. They had not been there all winter. They regarded 
Nixon’s solitary figure with noisy suspicion. As he pursued his 
way, a full half hour from the shieling he heard the panting of 
breath behind him. He turned and trouled Elspeth. 

” May be I’m doing w'roug,” she said; ‘‘ but 1 couldn’t think of 
you looking tor your sweetheari without telling you that Nancy 
Harper said to me once about the girl, ‘ Wha kens, lussie, ntaybe 
■she never was aboard the ship.’ ” 


CHAPTER XVlll. 

INQUIRIES. 

There were times when Joseph Nixon, thinking of his own 
sorigin, w^andered back from the w'orld of present reality into chaos. 
The fact that he had no father or mother known to him, and never 
liad, turned him into a metaphysician. The “ Who am X?” in 
Telalion to a physical father and a physical mother, w hich got no 
•answer, threw him back to the ‘‘ Who am 1?” in relation to the 
whcle mystery ot life. As he watched the comely figure ot Elspeth 
Oun, retreating tow^ard the shieling, after throwing at him an enig- 
matical word about his sw^eetheart, he resumed his way across lh >3 
moor, murmuring a passage from an English writer, which had 
sunk deep into his mind: ‘‘ Earth’s mountains are leveled, and her 
seas filled up, in our passage; can the earth, wdrich is but dead and 
.a vision, resist spirits w'hich have reality and are alive? On the 
Siardest adamant some tootprinl of us is stamped in; the last rear 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


95 


of the host will read traces of the earliest vau. But whence? Oh, 
Heaven! wiiither? Sense knows not; Faith knows not,” He re- 
peated the passage over and over again to himself as he swept 
across the moor, blackening under the stars, until he regained his 
hidden canoe at the head of the Cranberry Burn. He got into it,, 
paddle in hand, and for a long time he did not touch the face ot 
the stream. He allowed himself to drift downward with the run- 
ning water. How it sung to him, as he descended, little lullabies- 
which seemed to speak of forgotten voices in other spheres, notes 
of rush and gurgle which softly filled the air, notes of brawl and 
tumble which deafened the piieous cry of the curlews and the lap- 
wings who wheeled and skirled on either side of the stream! ‘‘ But 
W'hence?” He lay in his canoe, shut his eyes, and tried to throw 
himself back to the first beginnings of memory. But it did not help 
him. Ko father, no mother; not a face bending over his cradle; 
not an evening prayer at his bedside; ever the same Joseph Nixon,, 
stranger in a strange land, belonging to nobody. Memory would 
not help him as he drifted downward; but over his head there was 
the beating of wings, and the willcw-trees on the margin caught a 
sigh of the breeze as it stole down the vale, and the gurgling of the 
water beneath him increased and grew till his ears were filled with 
it and his heart was sore with it, and tor very desolation of igno- 
rance of the why and the wherefore, and the Whence and the 
whither, his eyes became wet with tears. But that was enough 
for him. ‘‘ Children cry for the moon,” he said; ” 1 have not been 
sent here to solve the problem of existence, and 1 have been a cow- 
ard about my father and mother because 1 bav3 been threaleued 
W’itb an origin which will humiliate my pride. 1 aura bastard! 
Well— so be it; but whose? 1 have been supported fer years from 
behind the scenes. They who supported me know, and what they 
know 1 shall discover. For 1 am on the eve ol a discovery about 
Mina Durie, which, if 1 am correct, wiil lift her beyond my sphere.” 

It is the case that hidden secrets in science are often contempo- 
raneously revealed to men working a hemisphere apart. They have 
had no knowledge ot the processes by which they were each work- 
ing; they have been ignorant that they were working at them at all; 
but contemporaneously the V3il is brushed aside, and what was in 
the region of darkness before comes into the light. Usher and 
Nixon were not a hemisphere apart, and they were not working at 
science; but it shot into both their minds at once, or very nearly at 
once, that Mina Durie was the baronet’s danghler. No sooner bad 
Hlspelb, her bosom heaving, and her ej’^es flashing, whispered ta 


96 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


him, “Maybe, she never was aboard the ship, than the answer 
seemed to come, “ Then is she the daiigliter ot the absent or dead 
Sir Thomas Dunbeath.” The difference between Usher and Nixon 
was, that while it filled the former with an ardent determination 
to secure the supposed heiress for his wife, it made the latter feel 
that he, who was legitimately engaged to her, must, in the case of 
her turning out to be Miss Dunbeath, give her up. How could the 
base-born look to a marriage with the proprietress of Cnoc Dim 
and JRuddersdale, and all the moor-lands and fields and sea-shores? 
No; he would not do Mina that injustice. He would be a man, 
and his love for her carrying him on to inquire who she was, and 
to find out the secret, he wmuld go no further than ascertain all 
that concerned himself, after which he would retire out of sight. 
Having taken oft his coat to dig at Cnoc Dim he need nol be 
ashamed to do it in other lands far from the dream of his first man- 
hood. Miss Dunbeath would ascend to her proper sphere; he would 
gravitate to his own lowly level* he would force no debasing love 
upon her; he would discover all, and quietly retire. He lay in his 
canoe, and went down the singing Cranberry slowdy, and a new- 
born lamb would bleat at his elbow as he passed, and the munching 
of the grass by moving figures in the dark told him of browsing 
flocks. He opened his eyes, and the lights from above were visible 
to him, opening up a white pathway on the stream. “ Sense knows 
trot; Faith knows not; only that it is through mystery to mys- 
tery,” “ Be it so,” he repeated, putting out his paddle and gliding 
into the center ot the stream. The movement woke up a sand-mar. 
tin, which went piping on the wing far down the stream before 
him: an otter rose with a salmon in his jaws, and disappeared with 
a splash; a hcion flapped heavily from a neighboring tree, and 
went away among the shadows ot the moor; the sheep stopped 
browsing, or wearily shifted their position; only the light from 
above remained on the stream to lighten his path. Ho flashed by 
them regardless ot their astorrishment, neither noticing them, nor 
thinking ot them. “Mina is Lady Dunbeath,” he murmured; 
“ and ] must give her up.” Nor did his arm cease frem its labors 
till he had got to the northernmost side of Ruddersdale, at the little 
bridge among the trees, whence he ascended to the high-road, and 
returneti to Nancy Harper’s. Nancy’s kitchen was full of the noise 
of laughter, inspired, he judged, by deep draughts of whisky, from 
the unrestraint ot the men who w^ere laughing. Be went through 
the dark passage, and stood in the door- way. The great fire-place 
was red with the flames of a log, which lay sparkling above a heap 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


97 


ot peats, fancy’s feyther,” with a tuml)]er in his hand, sat with 
his shawl about him, at the side of it. A dozen deep, there were 
chairs from the fire to the center of the kitchen, and in each chair 
was a miner in a moie or less advanced slate of jollification. Arm’ 
strong was beginning to sing. “ Thiee potatoes for a crown, in 
Australia, O!” when lilixon appeared. He did not cease till lie 
had rompleled six verses, when he was overwhelmed with tbe 
noise of the anplause, each miner hitting his neighbor’s tumbler till 
the hams in the rafters shook, and JS'ancy, who was standing apart 
at a dresser, arms akimbo, began to look solicitous. It was the first 
lime the miners had come in force to her house. She was a little 
afraid of them, for she was used to a quieter kind of potations and 
to the crooning rather than the roaring of songs. She had not made 
up her mind, anparently, whether their patronage was to be a good 
or a bad thing tor hsr. 

“ Hillo, there!” shouted Armstrong, catching a sight of Kixon 
in the door-way. Don’t stand like a skeleton at a feast. Come 
in. Cet a cannikin, and clink, clink, clink. By the Lord, you 
have your eyes about you. You’re the chap w’ho’ll fill your pcclr- 
cts before any cf us has commenced. Sit down, man; make room 
for (he chum — room, 1 say.” And to the right and left of his own 
chair Armstrong twisted three or four chairs of his comrades, and 
seizing a black bottle from the floor, passed it along to the new- 
comer. 

” It’s song time just now'; but we’re coming along to the yarns 
in a jifly — a yarn apiece, and nobody to shirk his share. True or 
false — it’s all one to us. Bring him in, some of you, by the nape 
of the neck, if he won’t move out of that lintel.” 

“By and b}',” said Nixon, “ when I’ve stopped a gap in my 
bread-basket. It isn’t every one of you wdio’s been to the top of 
Onoc Dhu to-day. And I’m hungry, Mrs. Harper, and would have ~ 
n room to myself and something solid to eat.” 

“ Y’ou’ll get that,” said Mrs. Harper, following Nixon into a lit- 
tle genteel room off the door-w'ay, where there was a small red fire 
of coals in a grate, and a white table-cloth on the table, and a brass 
lamp shining on a shelf. 

“ They’re noisy, noisy men. But, poor fellows, there’s no harm 
JD them. TheyTe just big boys, Mr. Nixon. 1 hope you’ll no’ 
find it an inconvenience, sir, their coming here to sing and drink 
and enjoy themselves. There’s something oflendecl them at the 
Duke’s Arms, and they’ve come to me in a body. I’ll no’ let them 
4 


98 


CRADLE SPADE. 


go past a certain point, ye ken, for 1 will have a ■well-orderedi 
house, as I’ve always hail; but they’re just boys.” 

“ 31rs. Harper,” said Kixon, leaning at a black shelf over the 
fire-place, ‘‘you once told Miss Gun, or suggested to Miss Gun,, 
that the babe who came ashore from the foreign wreck had never 
been aboard of the wreck at all. That’s so, isn’t it?” 

Mrs. Harper put her knuckles down upon the table, steadied her- 
self, and with a mechanical motion of her left hand drew a chair 
in position for herself. Mechanically she sat down. Her face 
wore an expression of gray decision and angry reticence. 

” You said you would like a bit o’ something to eat,” she re- 
marked feebly, "wilhout looking at Nixon. ” 1 here’s a cold fowl 
— it’s cold because 1 was keeping it for Mr. Laggan of the mail- 
coach, but he went by me to-day. You can get that. I’m sorry 
it’s cold: but you can have a warm fluke before it; and wi’ that 
and a gill, may be the hole in the bread-basket will fill up.*^’ 

“ Mrs. Harper, 1 don’t want to annoy you in any way. But you 
seem to me to be evading my quesdon. Have 3 mu any reason to sup- 
pose that Mina Durie was not brought ashore, as Sheriff Durie be'- 
lieves, as Roderick Leslie represents that she was brought ashore, 
as ever 3 'tody things she was, Mrs. Harper?” 

But the old woman only rose, left the room, brought in and s^ 
down the ‘‘ warm fluke,” and coming forward to the mantel-piece, 
put her hand on his arm, exclaiming — 

“ There, laddie, sit down to your meat. Eat, drink— dinna be- 
ask, ask, askin’ questions. Y'ou’ro here to dig: dig and eat, and 
be content. I’m happy to see your 3 ^oung face in my house, and 
to hear you in the passage, and to ken that you will be back to 
3 *our meals; but dinna be aye ask, askin'. I’ll be thinkin’ ye 
have a purpose o’ your own — that you’ve teen sent here tc my 
poor bield, wi’ the law in 3 ^our nieve— 1 will that, if you’ll never 
be done saying, ‘ Mrs. Harper, what? Mrs. Harper, how? Mrs. 
Harper, is it? or was it? or do 3 mu think? or should you suppose?” 
Take Riiddersdale as ycu find it, Mr. Nixon. You’re but a young, 
fine lad 3 'et. What would you do, troubling yourself wi’ mys- 
teries? The bit lassie you talk about is well enough wi’ the sheriff. 
The sheriff is a noble gentleman. I’ve given him a horn o’ brandy- 
in this very room, poor man;- and he’s asked me all lhae questions 
fifteen, sixteen, ay, eighteen years ago. Dinna be thinking, be- 
cause you’re 3 'Oung and you like the bit lassie, that all that’s in 
your head has come into it for the first lime. The sheriff has been 
through all the mystery before; and what's good enough tor hixa. 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


99 


should surely be good enough for you. New, I’ll bring in the 
fcwl to you. for 1 see you're no’ going to touch the warm fluke, 
and a cauld fluke is a dish 1 will nol set down to anybody. Ay, 
the sheriff asked and asked, pooi gentleman, every question eight- 
een long, long years ago. Put it by ye, Mi. Nixon. What mat- 
ters it what a puii shepherd lassie would say to ye?” 

She is Lady Dunbeath, Mrs. Harper. She is Lady Dunbeath, 
and you know it, and are concealing the secret and doing the 
sweetest woman on earth a gigantic injustice; and out it must 
come, if we take it out of you in the witness-box in the Inner 
House. Mina Durie must go up to her high estate. She must get 
her own. She must — ” 

” And Ml. Ni^dn has a little interest in the bit lassie coming 
into her own. Sir, 1 looked upon you as a man that had no great 
greed o’ gain. May be you’re not so disinterested as puir auld 
Nancy Harper supposed. No! ]\Iay be you would like to marry 
Lady Dunbeath. I’m no’ findin’ any fault wi’ your shapes and 
your capacities. Coming, coming!” 

There was nobody calling Mrs. Harper, but she went out, 
brought Nixon’s fowl, laid it down, and pressed him into his chair. 

‘‘ Now, Mr. Nixon, dinna you fash wi’ this business,” she con- 
tinued, for it’s a’ settled lang syne wi’ Roderick Leslie; he’s no 
the man to be meddled wi’, an’ ye have a young life, an' should 
look to preservin’ it.” 

” I’m not afraid of if, Mrs. Harper,” said Nixon, addressing 
himself to his fowl; ” not in the least, and 1 know no particular 
reason why anybody should want to deprive me of it.” 

” It’s a queer coil, this world, sir, and there’s accidents happen 
in it; and tak’ my advice, and do your bit diggin', and leave all 
this business to God’s providence to settle. 1 hope and trust and 
believe that in God’s own day, it there be any heir to Sir Thomas 
Dunbeath, he will be— she will be — she— (doming, coming!” 

Without invitatiim, she went out of the room again. Nixon 
despaired of getting any information fi-om her. He hnished his 
meal, therefore, lit his pipe, and went down to the pier, where the 
sound of the sea would, he believed, be more congenial to him 
than the noise of the voices of the miners in their cups. The starry 
darkness had broken out into the half-light of a frosty segment of 
the mocn. He leaned in his favoiiie attitude upon the upturned 
keel of an unused boat ou the quay. Ves, the voice of the sea was 
decidedly an improveireut upon the shout of his comrades, sad 


100 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


and unintelligible as it was, as its white waters swept the shore^ 
and moaned, retreated, and gave forth nothing but a dull, crashing 
roar, and came back again in long lidges of whiteness, to moan 
and roar under the unintelligible stars and the frosty moonligbt, 
Nixon paced the pier without interruption. He hearh the village 
sounds behind him; he heard the bell in the village steeple ring 
eight; he heard men laugh in the square, and it seemed as if some 
of the mining glee came down to him trom Nancy’s window. Yet 
it did not give him that sense of pastoral peace which some people 
associate with village life remote from the turmoil of cities. 
Rather he had an eerie feeling that the shadow of some great mys- 
tery, which he might be destined to solve, hung over Ruddersdale. 
There was a mystery, and one which he saw that more than one 
person was concerned in concealing, and if he must pluck out the 
heart of it, it might be at his own peril. Else, whai did Roderick 
Leslie mean by his fits cf illness? VV^hat did the shepherd mean 
by his guarded silence? What did Nancy Harper mean by her 
kindly postponement of all definite information? Opposition ta 
his inquiries only stirred him the more to the belief that Mina 
Durie was Sir I'homas’s heir. “ Mina, Mina! and am t set apart 
to solve the mystery, and to leave you forever?” He paced the 
pier till the bell in the steeple rang nine, when a man, with an oil- 
skin, a sou’ w'ester, and a boat’s rudder on his shoulder, came 
slowly dcwn the quay. 

” Frosty,” said Nixon as the fisherman passed him. 

” Ay, a wee thing.” 

” You’re not going out all by yourself?” 

” 1 am, though.” 

” Tc pull your lines?” 

*' To pull my lines.” 

” How far out do you go?” 

“ As far as a point off tbe Skerries.” 

” What do you catch out there?” 

” What it's the will o’ God to send me — aiblins twa three flukes; 
aiblins twa three ling; aiblins a turbot; aiblins naething. But i 
put mair faith in’t than 1 do in the goold, onyway.” 

” 1 should rather like to go out with you to the Skerries.” 

” It’s cauld, man.” 

” Never mind— 1 am used to it. The Skerries. You don’t hap- 
pen to remember a wieck there sixteen or eighteen years ago, la 
which—” 

” Sit dcwn, man, till 1 gel this sail up. Come oot o’ the bow 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


101 


and tak’ yonr seat aft teside me. She’ll run to the side o’ the 
Skerries in half an hour wi’ this blow o’ wind. Do 1 remember?'^ 
Yes— a wreck on the Skerries eighteen years ago, and an in- 
fant coming ashore?” 

” Mind your head wi’ that sheet. Now sit ower to starboard* 
she has a list to port wi’ that wind. Do 1 remember? Yes; six- 
teen— eighteen years ago, some time about then, the first steamer 
that ever ran between Ruddersdale and the sooth went to the bot- 
tom. Not on the Skeiries, though. No; not there. The Skerries 
hae broken the back o’ many a prett}' ship, but not the ‘ Puflan.' 
The ‘ Puffin ’ went out with a freight o’ great ladies and gentlemen 
—there was the duke's butler and his wife; there was Sheriflfc 
Dune’s wife and lier brother, 1 believe, and — Mind your head^ 
now, till luring her about. Yes; it was a big sink that. Now,, 
they were all on their way sooth; and the ‘Puffin’ was never 
heard tell o’ again.” 

” 1 he sherifi’s wife? 1 had foigotten about that. Poor old feb 
lowl To be sure! And it’s on the altar of his affecticn foi his 
drowned wife that he picked up the waif recovered from the sea 
about the same time.” 

” He’s a fine, cracky, cheery man, the sheriff. He has little to 
do wi’ altars to my knowledge. About she goes again; mind your 
he^d. My lines are down yonder — a little thing west o’ the Sker- 
ries. See, a dozen or two buoys bobbin’ up and doon. 1 think 
I’lJ get a tuibot the nicht, maybe.” 

Nixon peered beneath the sail. He saw the surf singing over 
the fatal Skerries; to the west there w.ere the buoys. The fisher- 
man had forgotten about the wreck. Like the shepherd, he re- 
membered scores of wrecks on the same ridge of rocks, and con- 
fused them. 

” The poor sheriff,” thought Nixon. ” He has taken over Mina 
in memory of his wife. That is why he is so reluctant to part 
with her,” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

LETTER. 

Sheriff Durie had some of his letters sent to him at Durie 
Den, seme of them to his club in Princes Street, some of them to 
Parliament House, some of them to the office of a writer to the 
signet. The letters which came to his own house were usually 
of an inoffensive character; he chose to arrange his life so that as 


102 


CEADLE AXD SPADE. 


few annoyances as possible should meet him inside his own door. 
It was his theory that home was home, and should be made as 
comfortable as might be; his home letters, therefore, were usually 
invitations to dine in town, notes unconnected with the law, “ how 
d’ye do’s?” from old friends, and w.hat not. It was with great 
disgust, therefore, that he observed at the side of his plate, one 
morning at breakfast, a letter from Ruddersdale in Ilsixon’s hand- 
writing. The sheriff had no intention of being hard upon Nixon. 
He had failed at the bar himself, however, and he regarded other 
bar failures with a want of leniency which was more in accordance 
with the laws of human nature than of logic. Logically, he should 
have argued that, having been a bad pleader himself, it was no 
sin and disgrace in another man to have mistaken his vocation. 
But that was not how he argued at all. Here was a yoking fellow 
wanting to marry his ward. His ward, he was determined, shoal il 
not marry poverty Present wealth he did not greatly care about, 
but some indication that the wooer had the power to collect enough 
of guineas to make the road easy for traveling on — that he mast 
see. He saw it in Usher, not in Nixon,, It was rather an aggra 
vation to him that where he had failed Nixon also had failed. He 
had no sympathy in him whatever, and he tore the envelope, upon 
which he recognized his fine Roman hand, all down the back and 
round the edges. 

” He’s going to whine aboirt his love and make a fuss about the 
separation,” murmured the sherifCi '* tne less 1 see of him, the 
less 1 like him. Blind idiot that I was, not tc notice sooner that 
she cared for him; the very circumstance of the man e birth being, 
Instead of a safeguard, as 1 supposed, a positive attractiou to her 
— a positive attraction!” 

“My de\r Sheriff DuRiE-(H"mr),— I was not to w^rite you 
till the strip of the deed of conveyance you gave me had assisted 
me to some discovery.— (No, you were not.) -It has rain in my port- 
manteau, where 1 placed it on leaving Edinburgh.— (Very good!)— 
But 1 think that, in another way 1 have come to the outside hedge 
of a discovery.— (The coward! the mean fellow! He promised me 
he would not write her till he had found something. It is a mis- 
erable subterfuge.)— When Mina was placed in your hands you 
were told by Roderick Leslie that she was brought ashore from a 
wrecE in the bay.— (Does the fellow suppose that 1 can't take, 
weigh, and decide upon evidence? He wishes to open correspond- 
ence with Mina again. 1 will stop his letters. No, I won’t. I’ll 
ijuairel with him. I’ll drop him. I’ll take Mina to the Ccuti 


CRADLE AE’D SPADE. 


loa 

nent, and Usher to speak French for us, and trust to the chapter of 
accidents.)— Now, I have reason to suppose that she may never 
have been aboard a* ship at all— that she may, in fact, have been 
born asliore. The suspicion— (Suspicion 1 H’m! That won’t do. 
We want facts, Mr. Joseph— hard evidence. You may suspect 
away, my good fellow 1) — has been borne in upon my mind by the 
remark of a shepherd-girl. — (A shepherd-girl 1 Ha! ha! Good- 
susceptible Joseph!) — She casually mentioned— (casually ! Good!) 
— to me that the innkeeper, Nancy Harper, had said to her on one 
occasion that the girl might have been born on shore. — (The chief 
witness. If 1 had not become aware in the course of years that 
swearing is as bad a habit as spitting, 1 should swear. 1 hale tbo 
man at this momept.)— Nancy Harper herself bids me mind my 
own business. — (Bravo, Nancy! Shrewd people up there. Bravo f 
Yes, let him mind his own business, by all means!) — But the more 
1 think over the circumstance, the more 1 am inclined to think that 
Mina Durie is Mina Duubeath, heiress to the estates of Rudders- 
dale and Cnoc Dhu. — (There is collusion here. Usher has writ- 
ten Nixon, and put him up to it. They are a couple of caitiffs,, 
and my little girl would be well rid of both their attentions.”) 

The sheriff’s little girl came down to breakfast at that moment,, 
and looked at him with a suggestion of surprise at the tenderness-- 
of his manner. She glanced at the letter in his hand, but did not 
see that it was from Nixon. The sheriff put it down, with address 
beneath, as it it were a begging letter or a bool account, or some 
other written reminder of nc importance whatever. But he took 
liis breakfast very quietly, and in the middle of it stuck the ” Cale- 
donian ” so that his head was invisible at the other end of the table, 
lie was dismally supposing that if Sir Thomas Diinbeath's 
daughter were sitting at the other end of the table, he would lose 
her before long. He looked at the w'all of print in front of him 
without reading, furtively drew Nixon’s letter within it, and read 
and reread it; and when Mina remarked — ” Papa, dear, 1 don’t see 
ycur face this morning,” he shoved the letter into his trousers’ 
pocket, as if he had been a scbool-boy suddenly detected in exhibit- 
ing a marble or a lop to a disinterested neighbor at prayer-time. 

‘‘Oh, didn’t notice that,” said the sheriff. *‘ 1 was reading a 
leader here— one of these slashing — you shall hear a bit of it.” 

And the sheriff began upon an article upon national finance, and 
went over a paragraph of it before he observed that it was uot 
slashing at all. 

” I’ve had a good night’s sleep, but 1 shall yawn if you go on.”" 


104 


CKADLE a:SI> spade. 


“ You clcn’t need to do that, i began on the wrong column. 
Here you are. That’s into them, isn’t it? They won’t leave the 
poor clergy alone. Note as a physiological facl^ supported by pow- 
erful statistics, that nine out ot every ten clergymen, after being 
placed, have red noses. Got their statistics fiom the men at the 
plate. Polled the country two Sundays ago. 1 can’t make out, 
however, what they deduce from the redness. Seem to believe that 
clergymen’s wives spend their time in pulling their noses. Too 
fanciful to be true Besides, what if it be true? Surely a man may 
be allowed to choose his own colors. It’s all a question ot taste.” 

The sheriff chipped all his eggs and devoured them, drank his 
coffee, and put on a disreputable hat, with the intent to stroll in his 
grounds. They were not very extensive, but they were well in 
closed with trees; there was plenty ot green grass, a good deal of 
cheery chirruping ami singing of birds, and a seat in a nook here 
and there, where a cigar was a fine temporary reconciliation to 
things as they are. The sheriff: lit a cigar, and again took Nixon’s 
letter out of his trousers’ pocket. He tried to smoke his way to 
perfect calm. He looked at the letter half a dozen different ways. 
He snipped the envelope on to the walk, and he contemptuously 
lolled the letter up in a ball in the hollow ot his hand, and drapped 
it, as it he were not giving it a thought, at the side of the seat. 
Iben a little breeze came along and shook the myrtles opposite 
him, and moved the envelope and the paper ball, and he found 
himself pouncing upon them and restoring them to his pocket. 

She may be Lady Hunbeath, and 1 am robbed. 1 am robbed 
of my treasure- Meddlesome fools! What have they to do with 
her origin?'' 

He rose abruptly, went back by the stables, had his horse sad- 
dled, and rode into Edinburgh at so reckless a pace that he would 
have been stopped, once and again, had not the guardians of the 
peace recognized him en route. He went straight to the writer to 
the signet and handed him bis letter. 

** Now, freely, from reading that, without a single forethought 
or afterthought, what do you think?” asked the sheriff. 

That the man had better look to his own origin, and first ot 
all find out who he is himself. He is not far away from his own 
origin, it Grant’s account of the payments which have educated 
iiim be true.” 

■ How so?” 

Well, Grant had these payments, if 1 am not mistaken, from 
Leslie, who slopped them lately, on the ground that the young 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


105 


man’s people, whoever they may he, had left no more resources. 
The terms of the payment were, that no questions should be asked. 
And being asked, it was discovered or asserted that— the old story,, 
bar-sinister— in which case the youth had his curiosity checked.” 

” Naturally,” said the sheriff. “ Tes; 1 know something of 
that, though not precisely in the terms you state. Give me a sheet 
of paper.” 

rie got it, and wrcte— 

” Dear Nixor, — My advice to you is, to confine your attentions 
to your own parentage fcr a little; let Mina’s alone. You have 
not quite observed your parting promise— never to address me at 
Durie Den till you had done something with the strip of the deed 
of conveyance. 

“How are my 'Eminent Scotch Sheriffs’ getting along? Oh! 
thanks: very well. 1 am laboring away at the administration of 
Scotch law during the Reformation. Dilficull question that — rery. 
Heard Straven’s comment on Smeaton’s fairies? Shut the door,*'" 
etc. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE HEIRESS. 

The sheriff was wandering about his grounds one Saturday after- 
noon, Usher was coming out upon his own invitation. He had 
not yet arrived, and the sheriff was considering with himself 
whether he had done wisely in inviting him to Durie Den with the 
mission he had proposed. He had not Quite ashed Usher to ask 
Mina to marry him. His contempt for Joseph, wdilch was mingled 
with a little grain of affection, had not gone so far. Resides, he 
knew Mina’s nature too well to suppose that she could be insulted 
with a second proposal within so short a time of her acceptance cf 
Joseph. Fcr ancthei reason Sheriff Durie was anxious about 
Usher’s arrival. The prosperous advocate had broached the ques- 
tion of Mina’s birth one afternoon when he had called on him at 
his house. 

'* Usher,” the sheriff had said, ” I’m too old a bird to be caught 
by chaff of this sort;” and he tossed him Nixon's letter. ” There 
has been collusion, sir,’' he proceeded. ” It’s quite plain enough 
to me. You have written to Nixon, yen have said to him that there 
was no reason why Mina shouldn’t be Lady Dunteath as well as 
any other body. And Nixon has tiumped up a little evidence to 
oblige you. That's how it stands. It’s a poor little conspiracy to 
take the girl out of my house. You might have been— 1 had every 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


lOG 

reason to expect you would have been— rather more fair and square 
with me.’' 

“ My dear sherifi, there has been no collusion,” said the advo- 
cate; ” on the contrary, Joseph’s interests are not ray interests. 1 
have no correspondence with him. 1 am ignorant of his 'wherea- 
bouts, except so far as that letter tells me. 1 can assure you my 
belief is based upon an instinct which, when my gown is on, fre- 
quently helps me to the truth in cross-questioning a witness.” 

” Yes, yes, yes. 1 know all about that. Very good. Instinct 
is a delusion none the less.” 

“Well, 1 have known nothing cf Nixon; an 1 the more 1 have 
thought of Miss— ahem!— Durie 8 position, the more firmly 1 have 
concluded that she is the daughter of Sir Thomas Dunbeath, Be- 
cause why? W hen Leslie delivered her into your hands he was in- 
terested in concealing the birth. The baronet had been leading an 
irregular life. He was absent from the country. The probability 
was that a daughter would have been a serious inconvenience to 
him — it would, at least, have been so to Leslie, who was interested 
in Sir Thomas’s absence, in his celibacy, or supposed celibacy, and 
in there being no heir to tne estate. At the lime, no doubt, you 
thought that, with a shipwreck on the Skerries, it was natural 
enough for a child to be brought ashore. Babes are born aboard 
ship sometimes, and sailors are tender enough, or superslitioua 
enough, to see that, in moments of danger, babes’ lives are put to 
the forefront for safety. It was possible, therefore, and plausible, 
that the little girl should seem to — ” 

” Hang it. Usher, you seem to think 1 never went into this case 
before— looking at it purely as a case— before long residence in my 
house intervened to warm into protection and affection.” 

‘‘lam only slating my opinion as 1 would wish to state it if you 
were presiding judge, or 1 were pleading before you.” 

‘‘ Very good, then,” the sheriff had said, ” she is Mina Dunbeath. 
Come out on Saturday and tell her so.” 

He had spoken in haste, and he had regretted, every hour of his 
life since, what he had said to the advocate. Mina saw there was 
something disturbing him; she could not tell what, and he did not 
enlighten her. But he was hardly able to look at her for the rush 
or emotion which seemed to choke utterance on the most trivial oc- 
casions. She could not put a flower in his coat, nor ask him what 
ne wouad have iO drink at a meal, nor bring him his slippers, nor lay 
a book or a newspaper at nis elbow, without noticing that bis eyes 
seemed to swim. She h(>ped he was quite well, and once and again 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


107 

asked him if he were not suflering— on each occasion to be reas- 
sured. He intended to tell her himself that there was a skilled sus- 
picion about her^being the true heiress to the Ruddersdale estates. 
But for so many years he had been connected with the county irr 
which the estates were situated, and had himself never hinted at 
such a suspicion, that he was ashamed now tc let her know how 
her biithriglil was being recovered. Over and over again he had 
braced himself up to say, “ Mina, my dear, it may be true enough;, 
1 don’t believe a word of it; 1 hope it is not true, for I have no 
belief in its bringing you any great amount of happiness; but it is 
my duty to say that ycu are possibly— it may be probably— a 
daughter of Sir Thomas Dunbeath.” 

But he shrunk from saying so, because any time he had talked of 
the man who might be her father it was with marked contempt for 
his life and character. In her hearing he had called him a wild 
man, a lout, a fast young fellow, a character upon whom it was a 
public misfortune for estates to devolve. And now it might turn 
out that the girl he treated as his daughter, whom he loved as the 
very apple of his eye, w'as to claim relations'hip to the wild man, 
the lout, the fast fellow. No, he would leave it alone to Usher ta 
let her know. But he in the meantime hated Usher and Nixon alike 
for the misfortune they were bringing upon his domestic life. When 
Usher did come out that Saturday afternoon, the sheriff, with his 
disreputable garden hat on his head, led him to the seat where he 
had read Nixon’s letter. They sat down together, and he said to 
the advocate, “ 1 don’t mind saying to you that Nixon's attentions 
to Mina have not my approval. Of course, she is a free agent. 1 
shall never say to her, ‘ You must do this or that, because 1 wish 
you;’ but, as you must sec, a girl like Mina has no right to be 
handed over to poverty and innumerable infants and misery. You 
understand me?” 

” i think so.” 

” In other words. Usher, 1 shall have no hesitation in breaking 
off this engagement, if 1 can do it. He is odious to me. Not be- 
cause 1 dislike Nixon; he is well enough, and no harm in him; but 
his, or any other man’s, poverty is a crime and a high misdemeanor 
when it is likely to affect the life of a priceless girl like Mina.” 

” 1 agree wMth you,” said Usher, thinking of his own bills, rather 
humbly, and of his briefs, triumphantly. 

” Yes, no doubt,” answered the sheriff, who felt no better dis- 
posed to the prosperous advocate than to his absent rival. ” Yes,, 
no dcubt you do. So should I were 1 in your place. Certainly. 


10 « 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


But what 1 want to say — 1 may as well say it now (there’s the din- 
ner-bell)— is, that you are quite at liberty to mention to Mina y(»ur 
suspicion-or beliet, or what you like to call it, about her parentage.” 

Just then, Mina, clad in a blue silk dress, fringed with a lace 
whose value the men cculd net appreciate, with a spring bouquet 
in her bosom, came toward them. 

“ We are waiting tor you,” she said. ” Beelzebub trying to get 
his black paw beneath the cover at your end, papa dear; Frisk sit- 
ting on his haunches, with his red tongue out, in glorious expecta- 
tion of a tit-bit or a scrap, at my end. How d’you do, Mr. Usher 
dpar? 1 beg .your pardon, 1 didn’t mean to use the endearing ex- 
pression. It came out quite of its own accord, 1 assure you.” 

” The deuce it did!” muttered the sheriff, hastening on before. 

“Pray don’t withdraw it,” said the advocate, complimenting 
Mina upon her appearance ana the return of fme weather, and the 
excellent condition of the law’n for croquet; for these Were ancient 
times, when croquet was still ycung, and more fashionable games 
had not ceme up. 

The dinner went by rapidly and quietly. The sheriff rose first, 
saying that he meant to do something at his eminent predecessors. 

‘‘ An eminent Scotch snooze, papa dear!” exclaimed Mina. ” 1 
expected you to take a mallet this afternoon— the first day the lawn 
is really dry and pleasant.” 

Mina, my dear, 1 always golf the balls, as you know. Usher 
will be very glad to have you all to himself. 1 really am seriously 
occupied. John Knox’s epoch is no joke. He was above the law. 
He obeyed it by breaking it, and that’s what I’ve got to convince 
my readers he really did. Every reader must see that John Knox 
was above the law.” 

** There 1 don’t quite take the sheriff,” said Usher, a little em- 
barassed at being left alone with a girl whese importance had grown 
till he absolutely believed himself to be speaking to Lady Dunbeath. 

1 know so little about John Knox. What he said about Queen 
Mary’s maids has always been enough fer me. t think he was a 
rude old man— exceedingly rude and brutal.” 

” Something about their inodorous pride, wasn’t it?— 1 recollect. 

Fes; but we cught to remember the times he lived in. He picked 
up an expressive adjective wherever he found it. He was not the 
sort of fellow, of course, one would want to meet on a croquet 
lawn. There’s a good deal of him about Edinburgh yet, however; 
his manners, his language — ” 

” 1 forgot to offer you a cigar, Usher. Try one of these,” said 


CRADLE SPADE. 


109 


tbe sheriff, coming in, with his coat changed, his hair ruffled, and 
a quiil behind his right ear. 

“ Thanks awfullj% as they say in the shallow South.” 

” Kow light it and go, you of the piotound North,” said the 
sheriff, looking tor his slippers and beginning to yawn. “You 
have no time to lose; there is a cloud between us and the sun.” 

Mina put on a cloak and hat ; the sheriff’s man carried out the 
mallets and balls beneath the branches of some overshadowing 
elms. Mina hit oft, and began to play her game. There may not 
have been the light velocity of feminine movement in croquet which 
lawn-tennis has developed; there may not te the same dexterous 
prettiness of attitude which is demanded by archery; but girls who 
had ankles to show at croquet gt<^od upon a vantage-ground, with 
theii toot upon a ball, which no subsequent game has given them 
a similar opportunity of matching. Mina roqueted Usher’s ball 
soon after the game commenced, and as she pulled h(a skirts to give 
her foot freedom, he looked and sighed. Ho-followed his smashed 
hall far do\^n the lawn, soriy to be so tar off, but conscious of an 
ardent and passionate atlachment to the owner of the foot. Mina 
■won with ease. Then Usher’s lask began. She had never alluded 
to Nixon, of which he was very glad. She had been very pleased 
and cheerful, and played her game with a thorough enjoyment of 
it. She stood under the elm-tree, her mallet over her shoulder, 
discussing the details with perfect light-heartedness, knowing that 
Usher had noticed her ankle, that he had admired it, and that ho 
■was thinking about it. 

” By the way,” said the advocate, when they had reviewed all 
the good shots and criticised all the bad ones, ” to revert to an old 
conversation of ours on the Biuntsfield Links, about the knowledge 
cf one’s parents.” 

” It’s always a painful subject to me.” 

” It need not be.” 

” 1 can not help being sensitive about it.” 

'* You wished only one word of information to be given you. 1 
believe 1 am in a position to give it. You are a daughter of Sir 
Thomas Dunbeath, of Riiddersdale, if my judgment is to be trust- 
ed.” 

‘‘ God forbid!” said the girl, retiring and laying down her mallet. 

‘‘ You, in that case, are Mina Dunbeath.” 

Mina shuddered. 

” 1 have dreamed dreams, and I would not be wakened out of 
them,” she replied, going into the house, to the sheriff’s study, 


110 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


■where he was finding his predecessors such congenial society that 
he had gone to sleep in ihcir company. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

ON THE SAME DAY. 

On the same day two girls wandered on two Scotch hills, and as 
they wandered, they dreaaied. The hills were far apart. One of 
them was Cnoc Dhu, in the north; one of them was Corstorphine, 
in the south. But though large counties and mDuutain ranges and 
deep lochs lay between them, the sun shone warmly on both hills. 
It lifted all the white mystery ot mist from Cnoc Dhu’s summit: it 
crowned Corstorphine with a nebulous haze in which the hill and 
its woods were only the more clearly revealed to the eye. 

Elspeth Gun had walked away from her father’s shieling, and 
sat in a deep dimple toward the river. 

Mina Durie hatl let herselt out of the Den gardens, and was sit- 
ting in her tree. 

They were of an age, the two girls; but the world had presented 
different aspects to each. 

Elspeth Gan had been far from civilization all her days. She 
could read and write; she knew about fifty words of a foreign 
tongue— Gaelic. There her accomplishments ended. 

Mina Durie had been in the heart cf such civilization as Edin- 
burgh affords. She had been educated from the first hour in which 
she showed the capacity to understand the difference between an A 
and a B. She knew at least three languages besides her own. 

Elspeth may have been destined by Nature to be a noble musi- 
cian; she sung with infinite sweetness when her heart was full, and 
the shaws and the ravines echoed to the notes of her voice as often 
as to the cry of the kestrel or the song of the mavis. But she had 
no knowledge cf musical instruments, though she had listened to 
the piano in the square of Ruddersdale, and the low, sad drone of 
Duncan Elder’s pipes sometimes came over the hills to her as she 
went out and in the shieling. 

Mina Durie, on the other hand, learned her Mozart and Mendels- 
sohn thoroughly, and sat by the hour, with new pieces, delighting 
her own ear, and looking forward to pleasing the ear of the sheriff, 
when she had matured all their melody. 

Elspeth Gun had n(> opportunities of developing her taste for 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


in 


reading. She knew her Bible, and her Bunyan, and her Burns; few 
other works had drifted in her direction. 

Mina Dune could take Goethe and Theophile Gautier in her 
hand, and sit a full hour at a time with either of them without le- 
quiring to assist her understanding with a dictionary. She could 
hold her own, too, in discussing their place in literature with ac- 
knowledged experts in such matters, and that ^without a prelimi- 
nary reference to any handbook of criticism. 

To Elspelh the old pastoral tales of the Bible were very like real 
life, and it would have made the theological fortune of any D.D. 
who approached her in realization of the scenes which visited htr 
miiid after a perusal of Genesis or Esther. To her the world be- 
yond Ruddersdale was delineated iu Bunyan. The “ Pilgrim’s 
Progress ” was a lutrinous guide-book to the south. Burns she 
lead with more fear and trembling, but so loyally and often did she 
return to him, that she knew all his songs by heart, and could quote 
large fragments from poetical odes and addresses — to herself; for 
her mother did not approve of poetry, and her father did not listen. 

It IS hard to describe natures which have never been tested. So 
much for the mere receptivity of the girls, however. Neither of 
them had bi^eti greatly tested as yet. They had no transforming 
experiences to wmken them from the life of tranquil domestic affec- 
tions. I'esterday with them had been as to-day, and they had never 
had reason to suppose that the morrow would be much different 
from its predecessors, 

Mina Durie had indeed imagined some lime before when Joseph 
Nixon and she had compared notes about their origin, and found 
that, as they looked back into the past, they -were simultaneously 
met with darkness at the cradle, that it was a great experience. It 
was so far momentous for her that, having met half a dozen times, 
and having on the sixth occasion looked into each ether’s eyes with 
the yearning they had bestowed upon the past, they pledged them- 
selves to an enduring affection. 

“ Wo have so much in common,’'’ Mina had said. 

“ The same background,” Nixon had replied. And the sheriff, 
by way of congratulating the culprits upon their engagement, had 
remarked, ” Well, nothing can come of it till we know who’s who. 
1 have no business, Mina, positively none, with the man whose 
hand you accept. But 1 must say in Nixon’s case there is a mys- 
tery, which, as you know, makes two mysteries— one for 3'oii and 
one for him. You can’t marry until something is discovered, lie 
may be your own brother for aught you know.” 


112 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


He had laughed when he said it; Nixon had laughed, and she 
had smiled. But the shaft had not missed its aim. The courtship 
had hetu very much of a brother and sister affair, without passion 
on either side, and as they had agreed, at the sheriff's request, with- 
out correspondence now that there was absence. Perhaps that was 
a testing experience enough. Mina’s lover was away from her. 
She had laid her hgad upon his breast the evening of his departure 
and declared that she would be true to him. "Was there not some- 
thing heroic in waiting; She sat in the hollow of the tree and 
murmured to herself that it icas heioic. But she seemed to iiear 
Usher’s voice correcting her and suggesting that it might be, but it 
was also a portentous boie, fatiguing in the extreme. She heard 
the suggestion so audibly made at her ear that she rose and walked 
round the tree, but nothing greeted her there save a brick-hued but- 
terfly, which fluttered, unsatisfied, off the back of a stone. Usher’s 
voice and face, however, insisted on presenting themselves to her, 
for since he had made the suggestion to her that her father was Sir 
Thomas Duubeath, he was associated with every wakiug thoughts 
At first she had resented the parentage. She had shrunk from it. 
She shut her heart against it, and a great tenderness overlook her in 
fulfilling all the little offices in relation to the sheriff. She dearly felt 
that she was going to lose him, and she could not be sure that it 
was worth exchanging the old relationship for a new. No doubt a 
father was a father, bat one with such a history! Even the dignity 
of the title to which she seemed likely to fall heir, could not remove 
from her view the impression of contempt which her own dear 
guardian had always seemed to bear on bis mind from his knowl- 
edge of Sir Thomas Dunbeath. 

On this particular day, however, as she sat in the hollow of her 
tree and looked down toward the lichened trunks of the oaks, her 
thoughts took a different turn. As she sat a carrier pigeon wheeled 
overhead, and was on the verge of entering the dove-cote outside 
the house, when, gomg out, she waved her handkerchief and the 
bird came to her. The sheriff always had a few carriers in a place 
called Flesh Market Close, where he went for his chops and steaks, 
ready to transmit messages to Durie Den. The message this cne 
brought was of no great importance. When Mina took oft the little 
paper from its right toot and threw it into the air, she read — 

“ Will dine with Usher to-day.” 

There was nothing of any great moment in that, except that it 
left her free to dream as she chose, having no dinner to keep her 
mind anxious about. She sat down again, and thought it likely 


(KADLE AXD SPADE. 


11:5 

thal the advocate had somethiug to say about his discovery, and 
that soon she must know more than the first surmise communicated 
to her on the lawn. The question then came to her, how would she 
really like the prospect? To be a baronet’s daughter— heir to a 
great estate! She had once been with the sheriff to Ruddeisdale, 
and had seen him fish in the Kudder above the village bridge. She 
had sailed with him tc the Skerries, and had the very submerged 
rock pointed out to her where the ship, trom which her precious 
self had been extricated, had gone to pieces. She had seen the 
baronet’s empty mansion — a lonely structure of sandstone, miles 
round the coast from Ruddersdale, and had thought, as the factor 
had shown her over it, how cold and gloomy and forbidding it was, 
and how much in character with its desolate chambers were the red 
austere faces, looking down in hall and library and dining-room 
from the canvases on the wall. Hut to be Mina Dunbeath— to bo 
gathered up a poor waif *from the flotsam and jetsam of an unde- 
termined wreck, and to be proclaimed mistress of these rocky 
shores, arbiter of the destinies of Ruddersdale, a somebody not to 
be looked at with the pitying interest with which well-intentioned 
friends regarded her, but with the respect which was due to her as 
one long kept out of her own! Why was it not Joseph? she asked 
herself, as she crushed the little pigeon’s message in her hand, and 
went down the hill to the garden — why was it not her knight, her 
true love, who had told her first of all the destiny to which she was 
heir? She went down into the grounds, and stood on the spot 
where Usher had told her of her good fortune, and tried to call up 
every word he had said. Lady Dunbeath! Lady Dunbeath! Poor 
Joseph! Poor knight! What would he say to that change of 
scene? Stupid Joseph! she thought, as she turned into the house,, 
* to dream at her leisure of this great thing which had befallen her. 

In the dimple of her bill Elspetli Gun was sitting. Ko trans- 
forming crisis bad occurred in her life, yet she was not the same 
Elspeth who had gone into that quiet hollow aforetime, and watched 
at her leisure the new symptoms of the months. Time to her and 
the progress of time meant the flight ol birds. She knew the 
months wlicn the wild swans came to the loch at the river, and the 
pochard and the carrion crows. She understood the passage of the 
brent geese and wild ducks and the berons, of the bean-geese, the 
divers, the teal and the coots; she knew their arrival and departure 
so well that she could have drawn up a calendar which wculd at 
least have been accurate as the inaccurate seasons, which do not 
usually come and go to the summons of an almanac. To-day, how- 


114 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


«ver, the birds did not interest her mind, as she sal IcoUiug down 
at the river. She was remembering that on the mountain her hair 
had fallen loose, and that the hand of a man had restored it to its 
place within her sun-hat, and that the touch of that man’s hand 
hail made her thrill fiom head to foot. That would not have mat- 
tered much. But she could not get the man’s face and form out cf 
iier recollection. Even now, as she sat, she almost saw him spring- 
ing over the moor, and how glad she would have been to hold out 
a hand of welcome to him! He would ccme back, of course. She 
knew that. He had said so. He was to remain till— alas! till he 
found some trace of the absent one he loved. Elspeth passed her 
hand across her eyes as she thought of that absent one. She had 
heard of her. She had known for years of her existence. She was 
part and parcel of an old story in Ruddersdle, and it was in relating 
to her the tale of this mysterious girl, temporarily fathered by the 
sheriff, JNancy Harper had said of her that perhaps she had never 
been aboard the ship at all. Elspeth had seen very few men in 
her time. The grouse-shooting never brought men near the shiel- 
ing Both the dukes who owned estates to right and left of the 
Rudder had stalked deer within a stone throw of them, and the 
Duke of Burrows had, on one occasion, come among them, and 
mumbled and gone away. He was so little attractive that Elspeth 
never gave him a thought again, except for the mighty power he 
had over his shepherds and the men employed about his lodge and 
bothie. But this great, straight, strong, hearty man, who lost his 
wind going up the mountain, and who helped her to bind up her 
hair when the breeze blew it free— she could not away with the 
recollection of him. She felt a soft languor of weakness at her heart 
as she remembered him sitting at tea, and she was angry at her ; 
father because he bad not told him more of what be knew, what i 
€lie knew he recollected, from his own stories of it to herself about ^ 
that wreck on the Skerries. Happy girli thought Elspeth, happy 
that this man should be giving all thoughts to her, and be climbing 
up mountains far out of the south to hear what people like she and 
her father had to say of her. Elspeth rose and walked out of her 
dimple and stood on the edge of it, and peered down the valley; 
mayhap, she might see his figure. liut, no I As she peered and 
turned toward the shieling again she sighed. She would have given ' 
much to say what it was which weighed at her heart— weighed not 
with the hard pressure of sorrow or fear or trouble, but of anticipa- 
tion which had latent delight folded up in it, 

“ Dear me, girl,” her mother said to her when she went back to 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


115 


the shieling, “ your vanity is not ing any less with your years. 
You’re looking into that glass ot yours a great deal. I'm sure 
there’s nobody to be particular about how you Icok at Cnoc Dhu." 

“ Did you never notice, mother, how careful the birds are to keep 
themselves nice? aud the very dogs and cats have a pride hr their 
appearance. Am 1 to be less careful of myself than they are? Oht 
dear me, mother, 1 think I’m getting wearied. Do you suppose it’ll 
ever be likely that w^e will go down to Ruddersdale to live?” 

” Never, lassre, never!” said the mother, solemnly; ‘‘ are we not 
good enough for you?” 

” Good enough!” said Elspath, suddenly going out and up the 
hill. 

She ran over the moor as far as she had run on the evening when 
she had overtaken Nixon, and told him ot IMrs. Harper’s little 
speech. She stood still on the very bank where she had spoken 
and turned. She sat down upon it, and recalled the man’s look of 
gratitude. 

” W’hat is it that’s wrong with me?” she cried, as she looked up 
the mountain toward the first long plateau wdieie he had gathered 
up her hair in his hand. ” 1 think there never w’as one who made 
himself more loved. 1 will do for him whatever 1 can. Poor gen- 
tleman! 1 will try to get him his sw’eetheart. 1 will help him to 
her. 1 will go down and call on Nancy. 

“ ‘ My heart is sair, I darena tell, 

Mj’ heart is sair for somebody ; 

' I could wake a winter night, 

For the sake o’ somebody 1 
Oh-hon for somebody! 

Oh-hey for somebody ! 

I could range the world around. 

For the sake o’ somebody,’ ” 

So sung Elspeth to the lapwings, and with great Cnoc Dim loom- 
ing over her, she sat on her knoll for a good hour, dreaming. She 
would tell him, she thought, the next time he came, that she had 
been ‘* thinking long tor him.” 

CHAPTER XYll. 

The sheriff had no intention of dining with Frank Usher that 
particular evening. The young man was still in that position at 
the bar wiien a judicious neglect on the part of his superiors W’as 


116 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


a justiljiible policy ou Iheir pait. A little encouragement was all 
very well, but there was still a large margin in his career lor i)Ossi- 
Lie failure. An excess ot cordiality, therefore, was not to be ex- 
pected by him; he did not expect it; it always surpiised him when 
he received any treatment which had not a latent snub in it. But 
then lie liked being snubbed: he regarded it as a sign of the snub- 
ber’s weakness and of his own strength. The proverbial water 
wdiich gees off the duck’s back was nothing to the way in which 
snubbing dropped from Frank Usher, unrebuked and unregarded. 

Be made it a rule in life always to cultivate better men than him- 
self. “ Some ot it will stick,'’ he reflected. “The noodles will 
think me a better man than lam if they see me speaking to — and — 
and — ’’ He made up to everybody, therefore, who had the slight- 
est claim to be more remarkable than their neighbors, and some of 
it stuck. He got the reputation which w'as useful to him, that of 
associating with tlu^distinguished. It was owing to that judicious 
policy that he was successful one day in getting Lord Straven to 
promise to dine with him. He had picked up a colonial premier, 
who, from being a herd in his native country, had contrived to put 
together enormous flocks beneath the Southern Cross, and to rule 
his colony. Usher had him put under his charge^ by a west-country 
firm of writers, and it was while he was showing him the contents 
cf the advocates’ library that, the old judge roamed their way and 
fell to talking about the colonies. Lord Straven did not, like some 
of his brethren, believe in bestowing his presence upon struggling 
young men. He thought that struggling j^oung meu should have 
all the advantages ot their position. But colonial cases sometimes 
came into his court, and though his breath was almost taken away 
from him by the audacity ot Usher when he proposed that he 
should dine with the colonial premier, he accepted the invitation. 

“ Where do you lodge, Mr. Usher?’’ he asked in a depreciatory 
voice. 

Usher told him where his house was, arranged the hour for liis 
dinner, and next day got the sheriff to make one ot the parly. He 
looked up his minister, too, a doctor cf divinity ot much renown, 
who carried about a mighty scheme cf pan-Piesbyterianism in his 
head. 

“ The colonial premier is a great pan-Presbyteiian,’’ Usher told 
the doctor of divinity. “ He believes that every Presbyterian com- 
munity in the world should be connected by telegraph with every 
other Presbyterian community; and that they should all be one, 
church with one head. 1 quote his own words when 1 say that it 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


117. 


is his belief, so united, that Anglicanism and Catholicism must 
both be bowled over after the silling of the first Presbyterian As- 
sembly.” 

” He is very sanguine,” said the great pan-Presbyterian. ” 1 will 
be interested in hearing his views.” 

” Lout iStraven has promised to come.” 

” 1 will make a point of being punctual, sir,” be added, regard- 
ing the advocate as an already risen man, who was wortliy of much 
respect. 

It was not Usher’s first dinner in his own house, but it was the 
hrst of any consequeni^e. Jle had dined a great hulking country- 
man, whose wife had, deservedly as ha concluded, run away with 
a gypsy, and found him frightful company, though in his anxiety 
to get rid of his wife he had made his retainers very strong at the 
writer’s office. He had also dined his friend the stockbroker and 
seme of his friends, and had found the evening intolerable. This 
particular night he was determined to make a success ot the first 
water, and in order to make sure of the phj^sical comfort of the 
evening he paid a visit to a hotel in Princes Street, where he asked 
an interview with the ccok. 

” Monsieur Rot,” he said, ‘‘ Lord Straven is dining with me to- 
morrow night?” 

” Yes, m’sieu, 1 know his lordship. He is a man with an in- 
side.’' 

” lou are right— he is. He knows what goes into him, and 
agrees with him, and what goes there and annoys him. Kow, 
Monsieur Rot, 1 want to put a dinner inside Lord Straven that wdll 
agree with him— you understand? Something, you know, that will 
make him lift his napkin and sigh when he has swallowed his soup. 
Something that will induce him to smack his lips when be has 
emptied his first glass of wine. Something that will impel him to 
pass a complimentary remaiK on Monsieur R6t when he has picked 
out his portion of fish. Something that will enable him to lean 
back in his chair for a moment, when he has got his rib of beef — 
lean back and wish to pass his right hand over his abdemen. You 
understand?” 

” Yes, m’sieu, you wish a simple strong dinner introduced into 
your house. You wish soup from Meiklejohn’s — is it not. so? 
HeinI 1 was right. You wish turbet from ISewliaven, and new 
potatoes from the gardens of the Monsieur Buccleucli? Hein! 1 
am seldom wrong. You would have roast --you leave it to me the 
choice, whether cow, or calf, or bull, or sheep, or lamb— you would 


118 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


have roast irom Flesh Market Close, and a salad, and haricot, and) 
simple sweets. Yes, m’sieu, leave it all tome. Hein! Since the 
good Hume died you have not dined in this melropDlis. You do 
not begin to dine till you run away to the Tweed, and have the 
boiled salmon at the station. Very well. Yes. It is Lord Straven, 
Dr. Rains, Sir Pete Mason, some other few^ and yourself. Aou 
will dine. You will dine.” 

The arrangements were very well made, for M. R6t took all the 
trouble of the dinner, and the judge, who was rather uneasy at his 
own condescension in Usher’s drawing-room, though he saw that 
Usher was the only struggling young man present, and that he was 
supported by a premier and a pan-Presbyterian, warmed into slight 
geniality when he observed the digestible material placed before 
him. The sherifi had plenty of small talk, literary, political, artistic, 
and (<therwise which flowed out of him in a genial stream, without 
apparent interruption by any of the courses; the pan-Presbyteiian 
messed himself as if he were a privileged Dr. Johnson, and talked 
thickly through soup, fish, and ribs of beef; the colonial premier 
put on an air of teiritic potency, and flirted with his dislies, be- 
cause he had dined already; the old judge liked them and gobbled 
them, and did not put himself to the trouble of being agreeable 
until fruit w^as put down. 

“ I’ve been listening with amazement, ’ he said, ‘‘ to Usher’s talk 
of gold mines in the north, and suppositions of the return of Sir 
Thomas Dunbeath, and what not. 1 suppose it’s the fact that men 
who are personally engaged in the law are most frequently cheated,, 
in a criminal sense. But let me know, Mr. Usher, a little of Scot- 
land’s geology and the sense of its inhabitants, and no cock-and- 
bull story of gold and lost heiresses will pass current as decent his- 
tory— not at all. Sir Pete.” 

” Do you believe it to be the case. Lord Straven, that men in the 
law are more easily cheated than others?” 

‘‘ 1 have it in my own experience. 1 am exceedingly fond of 
strawberries. Dr. Rains, in their season; and my wife, Mrs. Bell, 
knows that 1 am addicted to them. Well, then, last summer I 
could not find a butler, though 1 discharged seven in as many 
weeks, who had sufficient self-restraint to permit me to enjoy my 
own strawberries. 1 was allowed to get the blue, watery remainder 
at the bottom of the basket. The butlers insisted on making away 
with the large crimson ones on the top. But that’s only one ex- 
ample. 1 may say, however, that it is my conviction, it a person 
desires to thrive, without much suspicion, and with good practical 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


110 


success to himself, he will operate upon a judge or a sheriff. We 
can’t always be suspecting people. The judicial attitude must be 
laid aside some time or other, Dr. Rains. Beneath the robes of the 
magistrate there survives the unsuspecting man. Is that not so, 
sheriff?” 

“ Certainly,” said the sheriff, uneasily, not liking the bearing of 
Lord Straven’s remarks upon his own behavior, so many years ago, 
in the case of Mina Dune. ‘‘ I agree with you that men in a judicial 
position can not always be suspecting, but it is quite a different 
matter when they have taken up a case and sifted it to the bottom. 
Then there is no question of being taken in, except by their own 
stupidity in weighing evidence. This revival of the Dunbeath 
business seems to me nothing short of an insult upon my own judg- 
ment. 1 suppose you know. Lord Slraven, that Usher has sagely 
come to the conclusion that my ward is Miss Dunbeath?” 

Lord Straven, having finished all the skins of his own orange, 
began to attack the skins on the plate of the colonial premier, much 
to that worthy’s surprise. ” I’m not bound,” he said, ” to make 
remarks about your ward, sheriff, in the case of a suspicion of that 
sort. It wouldn’t do for me tc have an opinion about it. I’m not 
saying that because I was defrauded by my own butlers, you didn’t 
come to a reasonable conclusion about your ward. You will re- 
member, in regard to these portions of a deed of conveyance, that i 
gave it as my opinion that they had been drawn in the colonies; 
that was all 1 ventured to say about them. But talking of Dud- 
■beath, what an independent, breed they are up there! The Lord 
Justice Clerk was shooting partridges up in that region last year, 
and he was, naturally, pursuing his game — he’s an execrable shot, 

1 may say— through a field of turnips. He was wandering among 
the turnips when he observes a man at a dike looking at him sav- 
agely, after which he opens his jaws and uses some very profane 
language; whereupon the Lord Justice Clerk begged to inform him 
who he was. ‘ Do you not know,’ he says,*’ I am the Lord J ustice 
Clerk?’ ‘ 1 dinna care wha’s dark ye are, ye’ll come oot o’ my 
neeps,’ snys the agriculturist. The man was perfectly well aware 
whom he was addressing, but he might have permitted him to 
wander from morn till dewy eve, and there would have been no 
partridges shot— not one. He is an execrable sportsman.” 

His lordship finished all the orange-skins upon the colonial pre- 
mier’s plate; he automatically began upon Dr. Rains’s, and as that 
worthy could talk nothing but pan-Piesbyterianism, he dragged 
that subject up by the hairs of the head. 


120 


CRADLE AisD SPADE. 


“ No doubt,” said bis lordship, ‘‘ unity is streufitb. But variety 
is life. Give me variety in (he first instance. Every church is a 
facet which catches, let us hope, one glimpse of the (ruth. 1 would 
regret the day, Dr. Rains, when you were elected reigning pope of 
Scotland in a united church.” 

Dr. Rains, cut of the large compassion of his heart, peeled an- 
other orange, so that the old loid should net be in lack of skins, and 
launched out. with thundering power, upon his favorite topic. In 
vain the colonial premier tiied to get in a side- word about colonial 
Presbyterianism; in vain he essa 3 ^ed to shift the conversation back 
to the illimitable acreage at the seat of his power; Dr. Rains thun- 
dered unceasingly. 

” Usher,” said Lord Straven at length, ” 1 think it you were to 
get out your whist-table, the doctor cojuld explain pan-Presbyte- 
rianism to us while we play.” 


CHAPTER XXlll. 

THE GREAT GOLD MARIA. 

The miners who had come into Ruddersdale began at length to 
trouble the town. They had shocked it enough at the outset by the 
openness of their behavior in matters which morality and the laws 
of society, as they h.appened to be understood in Ruddersdale, con- 
sidered ought to be conducted in private. Half a hundred strange 
men in a hamlet, let loose upon it of a sudden, are no joke. To be 
sure it was a compliment to Ruddersdale. They were on the spot 
because of that magnificent rumor which had turned sf» many 
heads, and which seemed likely to turn so many more. Their pres- 
ence implied hidden treasure among the hills, and for an insinua- 
tion of that sort much unconventional behavicr might be pardoned. 
Still, they flutiered the’dove-cotes. At first it was all very well, for 
they had plenty of change in their pockets. But the change gave 
out in the course of a few weeks, and no post-office orders were 
cashed at the stationer’s with the letter-box in the window. Not 
one single order, though it was the fact that some of the strangers 
began to hesitate about their week’s account at Nancy’s, and in 
their rooms, under the thatches, in the rear of the low'n. It w^as 
then observed that they became greatly addicted to taking out cards 
and to distributing them in little groups of four. Any day, and at 
any hour of any day, small companies of them were to be seen in- 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 




tent upon a game which seemed to involve the destiny of a dinner, 
or a supper, or a pot of ale. They all played with equal earnest' 
ness, and while they grumbled much at Leslie’s domineering be- 
havior in shutting up the Rudder against all prospecting, they went 
on playing. Naturally the Rev. Mr. Johnson had to take note of 
this peculiar behavior. Years and years ago he had preached cards 
out of Ruddtisdaie. There was still a pariah here and there— the 
watchmaker was one and the barber was another. Cards were 
understood to be part of an evening’s entertainment in their houses. 
At Mr. Leslie’s, too, cards were played; but he was different— even 
Mr. Johnson admitted that. There were persons with blue blood 
in their veins, whose methods of salvation were different from mere 
•villagers, who stayed with Mr. Leslie, and it was not to be supposed 
that they should be hindered from playing cards it they wanted. 
When Mr. Johnson talked and prayed and preached them down, 
he tacitly acknowledged to himself that the rule had exceptions in 
the case of the blue blooded ones. Theologically he could not have 
said why it was so, bul socially he believed it to be the case. Cards 
w’cre intimately connected with half a dozen vices. He was in 
Ruddersdale lo see that vices were exterminated. Poor people could 
not afford to have them. It was a pity that ihe rich were obliged 
to be left alone in some of them. But so it was, and that was 
enough for the Rev. Mr. Johnson. But the miners were trouble- 
some in other ways. Half of them came to church on Sundays, 
hut they did not behave themselves. While he, Mr. Johnson, by 
the aid ct a biblical encyclopaedia and a vivid imagination of his 
own, was telling them about Ophir, and arguing that on the whole 
gold was a despicable curse, which, next to Adam's apple, had 
done more mischief than anything on earth, the miners were indus- 
triously misbehaving themselves. 

Thus, he observed while he preached that six miners would be 
sitting in a pew by themselves. As he got on in his discourse he 
would see that in the same pew there were only five, then four, 
then three, then two, then no miner at all. That might, in an or- 
dinary way, have only been exceeding drowsiness drawing their 
heads and elbows in below Ibe pews. Ele shortly noticed, however, 
that the head and beard of a miner who had ducked and become in- 
visible, slowly emerged from another pew, many paces off. Now, 
in that case there w'as only one method of locomotiou. They did not 
go over the outside of the pews, as they might have-crossed a stile. 
They must have crept in below fiom pew to pew% and it annoyed 
Mr. Johnson beyond measure, because, having seen a miner duck 


122 


CKADLE AE'D SPADE. 


and disappear, he addressed an Imaginary pew in tones ot thunder, 
expecting him to come up there; but on the contrary, he came up 
somewhere else, where there was, probably, apromisinfi milk maid, 
arrayed in scarlet ribbons, shining with well scrubbed cheeks. It 
was not Mr. Johnson’s habit to rebuke sin free.y, where he saw it, 
being a little purblind. He was not able, therefore, to stop his dis- 
course and tc improvise remarks annihilatory of the creeping min- 
ers. "i'et he felt that the discipline of his church was giving way. 
The little boys were littering— one or two of them whc thus showed v 
their approval of the miners’ conduct had even the back of a Bible 
brought sternly over their heads by watchful fathers; and there 
was an absence of the attention to which he had been accustomed, 
as it something more absorbing than the free offer of the means of 
grace were occupying the attention of the church. 

It became plain to him that something must be done when he 
saw in the back seats of his gallery a little cloud of smoke ascend 
from a pew. They had lit their pipes during service, and were act- 
ually smoking. 416 was, indeed, not certain that a pack of cards 
had not been produced at the same time, for the miners were intent 
upon something which seemed to demand a great exercise of their 
elbows, and which certainly gave them an earnestness ot aspect 
which he in vain attempted to inspire by his preaching. Besides, as 
spiritual father of the place, complaints began to come in to him. 
Girls were forsaking their sweethearts for the new-comers. There 
was an ardent young gardener, who looked after his “ curlies,” and 
dibbled his cabbages, and cut his potatoes, and sowed his annuals;, 
he had been saving money tor eighteen long months to marry the 
banker’s house-maid, and now he came and told him fiiat a black- 
guard miner was paying her attentions. He admitted that the miner 
was a taller man than himself, that he was even a finer-looking' 
man; but it was hard none the less to get the cold shoulder from 
his sweetheart because a feliow of the name ot Armstrong had 
come out of the south, and was using his glib tongue to greater ad- 
vantage than he (the gardener) could. And he was not the only 
one. There was the first plowman on a farm behind the village 
who was engaged to a girl at the Duke’s Arms; she would not 
look at him since the miners had come. And there were the dra- 
per’s daughters, two ot them, who had dropped corresponding with 
old apprentices ot their father’s in another town, all because the 
seekers for gold had, in the absence of other cTaims, set up claims 
on their affections. Mr. Johnson thought it was high time to say 
something to Mr. Leslie. He went down, therefore, and said it. 


CRADLE AInD SPADE. 


123 


“ 1 am obliged to bring to your notice, Mr. Leslie,” be said, 

tbe fact that there is a general demcralization of the town going 
cn. These miners are lowering the wdiole lone of the community 
— the whole tone. 1 can not preach for them, sir. Had you been 
in your pew the last two Sabbaths you would have seen that their 
behavior w'as diabolical. They crawled ( n all fours. They 
smoked. They — 1 have it on the belt authority— they played cards 
within the Church of Scotland. 1 am not superstitious, Mr, Leslie, 
as you know, but 1 dread a visitation. I do not know that what 
overtook Sodom and Gomorrah may not overtake us, if this evil 
thing is not purged out of our midst. Something must be done. 1 
greatly fear that they are beyond conversion. They have that 
within them that removes them from all chance of grace. They are 
graceless, and abominably wicked, and if something is not done by 
the civil arm, it will not astonish me to see Ruddersdale reduced to 
ashes by an avenging thunder-bolt. 1 beseech of 3 mu, Mr. Leslie, 
to consider what may be done to remove them from our midst.” 

” 1 will have them sent further up the country,” said Mr. Leslie. 

Don’t be impatient, Mr. Johnson. They shall go in good time. 
But 1 have work for them to dc. They are fine stubborn material 
for you to work upon. You’ll have to drill the means of grace into 
them as a quairyman drills gunpowder into a rock. Then there 
may be a satisfactory explosion. 1 will see to it that there is no 
more of this disgraceful behavior in church.” 

The truth was that Roderick Leslie was in no immediate hurry 
about the miners. He had engaged Russell, and paid him wages in 
advance for work he intended should be done. It was his policy 
to starve the remainder of the miners. As soon as their money was 
gone, he calculated that they would become his. They would no 
longernvant to dig on their owm account; they would accept wages, 
and be thankful. 

It was with great pleasure that he heard of their card- playing and 
their inability to meet their w^eekly scores. He took it to be a sign 
that they must give in. Just about the time be hoped to hear ol a 
company being put upon the ’Changes, they would be starved into 
a liking for weekly wages. Leslie was annoyed to find that there 
was so much delay in the south about the new company. Porteous 
was not working matters as he had expected The investing public 
Tvas not rising to the golden bait. There were peals of laughter in 
mining circles, be had been informed. Mining circles thought it 
an elaborate joke. They looked upon it as the most humorous thing 
which had occurred of recent years m their burrowing experience. 


I 


124 CRADLE AND SPADE. 

They liked the audacitv of it, tut they would not invest. They 
would not quote it, much less invest; but they liked the drollery of 
the thing all the same, Nothing daunted, however, Leslie had 
every grain of gold utilized, and some chains and watches, whose 
material had been unearthed years before on other mountains. He 
had the stuff worked up into trinkets and gewgaws, and they were 
put into windows iu the south, labeled “ Ruddersdale gold.” It 
fetched nobody. Curious passengers looked in at the windows, 
but investors smiled. Post after post brought no belter news from 
Porteous than that the investing public hung fire with its monej\ 
He saw nothing lor it but to take the affair abroad, where ii would 
be more difficult lor people to make inquiries. It grew upon Por- 
teous that Paris was tlie likeliest center tor starting the scheme to 
the best advantage. Meanwhile let Leslie go on, he advised, wu’th 
any work he contemplated. Let him set his diggers to something, 
and test one or two leads in his neighborhood for his own satisfac- 
tion, even it he contemplated nothing better in the meantime. That 
was how it came about that one evening Leslie walked into the 
parlor of Nancy Hamer, smoking, and interrupted Armstrong as 
he was telling his companions a little story of a stroll. 

‘M strolled,” the ex-mate was saying, “ as far as Dunbeath House 
to-day. Now it's a pity to see an old place like that lying idle, 
wide open to the dogs, and a gentleman like me here who would be 
pleased tc take up my quarters in it. Right glad I’d be to swing a 
hammock in any room of it : I would— yes 1 would— and ring for 
my hot water in the mcrning, and my whisky cold at night, and 
pipes and baccy and beef and cabbage in the middle of the day, 
and no questions asked till the day 1 died. A fine property, and 
no mistake. But you’ll allow me to put in a word about it. 1 
w’ent into the house, and nobody said, ‘No, you sha^n’t,’, and 1 
walked through the hall, and up a polished oak floor into a library, 
and out of the library at right angles into a room full cf old por- 
traits. Listen to me, now, old Harry, snoozing in the corner. You 
are listening, are you? Very well, 1 walks up to a corner, and 
sees a face— whose face do you think? How should you know'? I 
sees the face of old chum High-Dry of the Red Gully. You remem- 
ber High-Dry, him wdtli the infernal hatred to spade work, who 
had a bridged nose and a bright eye and the appearance of better 
days about him. Old High-Dry, 1 tell you, as large as life, stand- 
ing in the canvas in the corner of that hall, with alt his ancestors 
about him. J always said at the Red Gully, ‘ Here’s a swell.* 
You don’t recollect? 1 did, though— 1 did. And I’ve lived to find 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


125 


my words come true; for he stands amon^; his ancestors in the half 
of Dunbeath House. 

“ Now will any of 5’'ou tell me a little coincidence like that, on a 
fine spring afternoon? 1 meet a chum under the Southern Cross; 1 
chum with him in Red Gully; 1 come up here to sink a shaft, and 
1 find my old chum is an ancestor, the kind o’ fellow that keeps up 
the connection between the centuries— a link from the old times to 
the new times — an old chum, in fact, a swell — ” 

“ You mean Sir Thomas Dunbeath?” asked Leslie in the door- 
way. 

” 1 mean old High-Dry of Red Gully; or if he’s Sir Thomas, 
that’s his fault, not mine. 1 ask you it it’s my fault now, is il?’* 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

REMORSE. 

Nancy Harper had expected to end her days in peace, though 
she had led some years of her life upon which she did not care to 
be asked to look back. Nobody could ask her to make the dis- 
agreeable retrospect except Roderick Leslie. She had nothing to 
be ashamed of iu her history except as it concerned her relationship 
with the factor during a period when Sir Thomas Dunbeath was in 
their midst, a younger man than Leslie, dependent upon him for 
much of his amusement, as he was for the ingathering and manage- 
ment of his income. What Nancy had done was at no time of her 
own initiative. She had been endowed by nature with a great sym- 
pathy for pranks. Pranks in the case of Sir Thomas Dunbeath and 
Roderick Leslie had, unfortunately, as it had recently been ex- 
plained to her, taken a criminal turn. She had often feared as 
much. She had never allowed herself seriously lo think so; but 
now that young Nixon had become an inmate of her house, and 
was setting inquiries on foot which opened up fhe past, her ‘memory 
harked back upon events which had ceased to trouble her. Besides, 
a new anxiety arose in her mind. What might not Roderick Lesde 
think himself justified in doing to this young lad? Nixon she much 
liked. His presence in her house was a pleasure to her. Among 
the miners he was the solitary one whc enjoyed himself at her fire- 
side without annoying her. He was cheerful without being bois- 
terous. He was kindly without being soft. He was the natural 
arbiter of disputes without being bumptious in consequence. Yet 


126 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


of late he never crossed the threshold of her inn bul Nancy thought 
he might be brought back to her dead or maimed. She knew that 
Roderick Leslie deeply resented his presence at Riiddersdale, and 
though she knew of no man in the village who was likely to put 
his hand to a voluntary deed cf blood tor KodericR’s sake, she be- 
gan to dread the possible actions of the factor’s own hand. He had 
.always been rough ever since she knew him; she had admired him 
in an earlier day for that very quality; she liked to see him subdu- 
ing, by the force of tongue and arm, other men as rough as himself. 
But now he was not so strong as he had been. He was weaker in 
character, and it this youth were a vicious enemy, she believed that 
it might not be impossible for the factor to find a way of putting 
him off the property by permanently placing him in a grave. Nancy 
was by nature a pagan. Like the doctor, and one or two other 
privileged people of the village, she never entered a church door. 
She always thought and. talked respectfully of people who did go 
to hear the Rev. Mr. Johnson’s prelections, but for her part domes, 
tic duties were too strong for her. She pleaded deafness and an 
cbscure nervous disorder when the minister called on her and 
asked her to present herself at communions, and to use her pew, for 
which she regularly paid. But as she always laid down her best 
glass of wine to him, and fetched out her handsomest shortbread, 
the little spectacled preacher let her alone after a while, and never 
pressed her too much to show up at church. The longer, however, 
that Nixon stayed in her house and showed her in fragments of 
conversation that he was piecing together the past, on which she 
thought she had turned her back forever, the more she fell that 
something outside her was acting upon her life and demanding retri- 
bution for old errors. The power, nor ourselves, making for right- 
eousness, had not as yet ceme up in literature, life, or Ruddersdale. 
The only supernal authority recognized among people of faith in 
that remote community, was a power as anthropomorphic as an 
old engraving in John Milton, carrying in his red right hand an 
emblem.of authority like a poker, with which he bashed his victims 
among forked longues of fire. Nancy began to think a goed deal 
about that engraving, and the more she carried the image of the 
poker in her mind, the less she liked it. Personally she would have 
been very sorry to see anybody — the greatest villain on earth — 
bashed with such a theological weapon; but there it was, the poker, 
the supernal authority, the victim and the tongues of fire. They 
were in it for their misdeeds. Alas! might not she, Nancy Harper, 
open her eyes some hot morning and find herself menaced by the red 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


127 


light hand, with an unbreakable skull and infinite salamander 
capacity for survival among flames? It made her deal with Nixon 
as if he were an emissary of the supernal authority, sent to her to- 
remind her of a period when she shut her eyes upon events she had 
better have interrupted and altered. She concluded he was there 
lor her sins, and she became exceedingly uneasy. Not that the old 
woman had not plenty of pluck. She could endure what hei neigh- 
bors endured. If she were to become a menaced salamander through 
all eternity, if she thought she had evenly done her duty in life,, 
she would have taken the piospective punishment with calmucBS. 
It was the thought that, during a life-time of comparative devotion 
to the duties which lay nearest to her hand, she had for the sake of 
Roderick Leslie and Thomas Dunbeath, winked upon serious sin, 
which now disturbed her day and night. So strongly did remorse 
take hold of her, that one evening, dressing herself in her weeds, 
she called upcn the Rev. Mr. Johnson with the intention of making 
a comparative confession of her faults, while she asked bis advice. 
Mr. Johnson’s manse lay up the hill among trees, in a straight line 
from the tower of his church. Good, hardened old Nancy, as she 
passed through the three front fields of glebe, felt very sinful in- 
deed, and with her clean pocket-handkerchief wiped away a tear 
or two which straggled over her cheeks. She had not meant to as- 
sist Roderick Leslie to crime. She had believed that the baronet 
being associated with him in all he did, they must know better than 
she. But no, there was the engraving, and Nixon, with his boyish 
simplicity, asking her questions which harrowed her soul. 

Nancy’s appearance at the manse made rather a sensation. It 
was well known to the family of the minister that the innkeeper 
had been bombarded by all the shot and shell of Milton and Jona- 
than Edwards, and that they had exploded to right and left of her^ 
leaving her, all the same, pagan Nancy Harper. One of the min- 
ister’s boys let her in, and seeing Nancy’s face, sadly feared she 
meant to “ funk ” and became anxious. He was a boy who had 
a constitutional incapacity for becoming anxious under any species 
of representation of misdemeanors personally committed, or traced 
back on his own responsibility, to Adam, the father of all sinners, 
old and young. He led Nancy into a study, therefore, and shut- 
ting the door on her before his father arrived, extracted a huge 
stone from his pocket. 

“ There’s gold in that, Mrs. Harper.” 

“ Maybe there is, my boy. The minister’s no’ engaged, is he?” 

” No; but i say, Nancy, yDu’re not— ycu know?” 


128 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ What, my boy?” 

” 'i'ou’re not going to be like old Shearer, who tars his breeches 
and sits on the plate on Sunday afternoons.” 

‘‘ What would he do that fci, my boy?” 

” To get the change. 1 know that day 1 got a sixpence to put 
into the foreign missions, and made a dump with my thumb among 
the coppeis, and Kept the sixpence for ‘ gundy ’ next morning— 1 
looked back, and saw Shearer lifting his coat-tails and preparing 
to sit down. Everybody says he’s making a fortune out of it.” 

“ Weel, weel, my mannie, he’ll no prosper on money he has 
made that way.” 

'V Don’t you get a long face, loo, Mrs. Harper.” 

” Rin atva to your father, dawtie, an’ say I’m here.” 

The Rev. Mr. Johnson, with spectacles on his face of a peculiar 
thickness, and eyes behind them which suggested indefinite l umina. 
tions among the theologians, sat down, clasped his hands together, 
and in a strong nasal voice asked her a^ he swayed to aud fro 
whether he could be of any service to her. JN'ancy had intended 
to make him of veiy great use. She meant nothing short ot ask- 
ing him to listen to some of the things with which her conscience 
was presently buidened, and to tell him that she had long contem- 
plated a present of Cochin China hens, and could he use his influ- 
ence in regard to the sins she regretted? But looking into Mr. 
Johnson’s face, Nancy, in comparing it with the stream of faces 
on which her duties had called her tc look for the last number of 
years, suddenly judged that it was impossible he could have much 
influence with supernal authority. 

” ’Deed no,” she murmured to herself. ” I’ll tell him about the 
€ochin, and gang awa' doun again. Mr. Johnson, sir, your last 
veesit did me a great deal o’ good. 1 was just up this way ony- 
way, and thinks 1, the minister kens aboot hens, an’ I’ve a breed 
o' Cochins he hasn’t got. Will he lak’ a cock an’ a hen? Other- 
wise, Mr. Johnson, w^e’re all well at the inn— very thriving wi' the 
:go]d. It’s a pitiful notion that they’ve got. And Mr. Leslie at the 
head ct the whole thing!’ 

” You’re very good, Mrs. Harper. I’ll be pleased to hear ycur 
Cochin crow in my yard, and to see the hen’s eggs on my table. 
■Will you not wait a minute, and my wife will bring down a little 
of something calculated to remove the cold air? No? Well, good- 
night, Mrs. Harper; we'll be very pleased to receive the Cochins. 
Singular, 1 thought there was something weighing on that woman’s 
mind.” 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


12 ^ 

'‘Nancy hasn’t ‘funked!’” exclaimed the small boy, rushing 
Tound by a backway tc join her and to walk down with her in the 
'dark to the high road. ‘‘ I’m awfully glad,” he said, putting his 
fist into Nancy’s, while in his anxiety to keep up with her he split 
a pair of garments which were his fifth in descent in successive 
wear from an elder broJherhocd. 

‘‘ What now?” asked Nancy. 

*‘ 1 thought you were getting anxious. 1 hate people that go on 
like that.” 

‘‘Dinnayou come oot in the dark, there’s a dear! I’ll ha’e to 
fihow you a page o’ the picture-book next time you come my way. 
See what you’ll think o’ it. Good nicht to ye. They say the 
ibaiins are nearer grace than us. Maybe that boy’s no so far 
wrang.” 

But on her way down again to the village Nancy had a deep mis- 
giving, and a great sonow took possession of her, and she could 
not away with her grief. Again she brought out her white hand- 
kerchief and wiped her eyes, and instead of returning to her inn 
she went round a broad highway beliind a plantation, and a good 
mile oil, and turned into a little secluded grave-yard. 

Nancy had a fair share of superstition. Like many other people 
who had never had a personal interview with a ghost, she thought 
there would not be so much whispering about their existence if there 
was riot something in it. She saw no ghosts, however, as she peered 
through a dreary iren gate; so picked her steps over the soft, luxu- 
liant grass, among hidden headstones, and white slabs raised on 
end. Nancy’s child was deep down in one cf the closed graves of 
the little acre, covered over with a slab, waiting the day, as Nancy 
believed, when she should discharge her chrysalis and go forth in 
the sunlight, with spread wdngs incapable of decay. But she has- 
tened past the child’s grave. 

” She’s there for my sins,” said Nancy, renewing the application 
toiler eyes of the linen handkerchief, ‘‘They took her away be- 
cause she was purer than me. 1 wasna good enough for her.” 

She went by her child’s headstone, and winding among the humps 
wdtli soft, inaudible footstep, she reached a high wall overhung by 
forest. All beyond the wall was black and indiscernible. Not the 
sound cf a twig falling came to her from the other side. Not the 
swaying of a branch of a tree showed her that the living world was 
moving around her. It was silent in the grave-yard; it was more 
silent beyond. Nancy paused at the wall, her foot slipping upon 

tjie concealed rotundity of a skull in the grass, and recovering itself 
5 


/ 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


J30 

on the roughness of the edge of a coffln-hd. No sound on this 
side— no sound on the other. She looked back, the moon was ris- 
ing behind her, and glancing in eerie pathways upon the white 
headstones. The white light only made the mysterious darkness 
beyond the wall more dark and weird to her consciousness. But 
she paused before a broken railing, entered, and knelt at the shut 
mouth of a vault. She knelt and wept, and, if she had known 
how, she would have prayed. But to the motion of her lips there 
came no prayer. To that tomb had she been drawn in spite of her 
own resistance. There, under the weird moonlight, with no voice 
of the wind or the trees to fill her ears, she felt she must wait, as if 
she had made an invisible tryst with an invisible spirit. 

“ Thy sin will find thee out,” she murmured, leaning her head 
against the dead wall. ” Ay, ay, Roderick Leslie, will find thee 
out— will find thee out. It was here— on this spot. Yes, we laid 
her here, and no tear shed; poor lamb! No tear. But I can shed 
them now. Weary on me, 1 can do little else than greet. Grave,, 
grave, poor hole that ye are, is this the end o’ a’ things? An’ am 
1 but wastin’ precious life’s breath and warm tears that you will 
dry up soon enough?” 

And Nancy thought of her engraving again’ and shuddered, and 
her knees becoming feeble, she tried to lean on the dead wall, but 
it gave her no support, for she went down on the ground, a littlo 
inefiectual heap of womanhood, trembling at tlie impulse which 
had drawn her there, desiring to rise and flee from the place, and 
unable to move. In that limp and crumpled attitude, a man, who 
leaped the side-wall and madly shot across the headstones, found: 
her, to his great surprise, an hour afterward. 

” Contusion!” said Roderick Leslie, for it was he, ” she’s on the 
grass. She's outside the vault. Nancy Harper, what brought you 
here?” 

” The great God, that lets not the sinner ofi: in his sin,” said 
Nancy, tottering among the headstones, and leaving the factor 
trembling where he had found her. 

chapter XXV. 

RETROSPECT. 

Armstrong ceased talking, with the palm of his hand on his 
mouth. 

‘‘ Where’s Russell?” asked Leslie. 

‘‘Russell, Russell— he’s gone away to his hammock. Swung 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


131 


himself up athwart of Nixon, and if jxu bend your ear, sir, nt the 
bottom of the staircase, jmu’ll hear a couple of the finest snorers iu 
these parts, going it like a bass drum in full practice. Two bass 
^rums, 1 might say — Nixon, he’s the deeper and louder; Russell, 
he’s the longer and sounder. ’ 

“ it’s a kind of music 1 don’t care about, my man. If you’re 
done of your yarn, and wouldn’t mind a drop at the bar and a talk 
with me afterward, then you’re welcome.” 

Armstrong thought that the long-hindered permission to dig was 
about to be given him. He winked elaborately, full in Leslie’s 
face, to the floor, wiped his mouth, and went out into the dark 
passage, where he rapidly imbibed something paid for by Leslie. 
Then he followed him into the open street, where the air of the sea 
blew fresh and strong. 

” 1 might be cornin’ up on deck to my watch, sir, with this smell 
of the sea about; shivering a little at first, buttonmg myself up, 
and taking a turn round by the compass, and going forward to 
count my hands. Bar the want o' motion, sir, and the flap, flap of 
wind in the sails up above, it’s very much at home.” 

‘‘ Your home is the ocean?’ 

” Yes, the mighty deep — the tolling main. If you keep shilly, 
shally, ]\lr. Leslie, neither giving us permission to dig nor denying 
it to us, then I shall go home again. I’m about played out. With- 
out a pack o' cards to keep me in pocket, 1 should have been adrift 
a week ago. 1 came here a gentleman, sir; l am now an advent- 
urer. 1 live from hand to mouth. 1 ‘ know not what a day may 
bring forth,’ as the worthy’' minister remarked a ccuple o’ Sabbaths 
ago.” 

Leslie let his whiskified friend talk on. He had no object in 
bringing him away from Nancy’s kitchen except to hear, at his 
leisure, the end of the story about old High-Dry, otherwise Sir 
Thomas Dunbeath. 

“An adventurer!” said the factor, ”1 wish I had half ycur 
leisure; to my certain knowledge you do nothing, Armstrong, from 
morning to night but nip whisky; go down the pier, nip whisky; 
go to the back ol the town, nip w^hisky; sit down to a meal, nip 
whisky; rise from it, nip whisky; smoke, nip smoking, nip about 
the town, till by the end of the day you’re a fuming distillery worm. 
It beats me how you and your comrades keep your neads up at all 
with these habits upon you. Give it up; drop it, and I’ll place you 
next to Russell. I’ll take you into my employment, and pay you 
wages from the beginning of next week. 1 won’t need you so soon 


132 


CKABLE AND SPADE. 


as that, but I’ll do what 1 say, it you’ll keep your head about 
you.” 

The factor talked with an air of command. Armstrong felt that 
he was being ordered to his work as if he were aboard ship. He- 
became deferential at once, and said, as his shillings and sovereigns^ 
had all given out, he was willing to be considered open to an en- 
gagement. 

“You understand dead- work, 1 suppose?” 

” Dead- work — yes. I’ve driven many a level and cross-cut, but 
always with hope of coming on something. 1 don’t like to con- 
sider it dead-work till 1 find there’s no yield in the quartz. Mr. 
Leslie, if you’d give us the chance of running for the alluvium^ 
there’d be no dead-work to do.” 

“You’ll be paid your wages.” 

“ Don’t call it dead-work, then.” 

“ I’m only giving you Russell’s word for it. 1 hope he knows 
something about mines and mining. And now let me say to you 
that this little yarn o’ yours is a very pretty thing— about Sir 
Thomas, 1 mean— very pretty; but don’t tell it again. It’s a lie.’^ 

“ You may call it what you like, but it’s as true as I’m walking 
here alongside of you. 1 tell you that portrait in the house is the 
portrait of an old chum in the Red Gully. 1 say he’s High-Dry,, 
the useless gentleman who couldn’t work; who gave up digging 
to sell lemonade; who mixed his own lemonade strong, and who 
got a little wooden cross put up over him, at the back of the Red 
Gully, with H. D.’ carved on it.” . 

“Yes, yes. Ycu’ve a fine imagination; but you can keep that 
to cool your broth with. It’s your hands and your experience I 
want.” 

“Very good, Mr. Leslie. My yarns arc for others. I’ll take 
your wages.” 

“ Go away back to your bed, then, and make big drums of it 
with your nose. One of these days I’ll require ycu.” 

They parted, and the factor applied his latch to his door and 
w earily ascended to his room, where the lights were burning low. 
He turned up his lamps and stirred his fire, and threw a log upon 
it. He drew his chair in to it, and tried to pretend to himself that 
he was falling asleep. Asleep! Roderick Leslie had murdered his 
own sleep. Night after night he vainly strove to get into the ob- 
livion of an earlier and healthrer period in his life. But sle{D 
eluded his eyes now, and visions stalked before him in the dark, 
which were the embodied children of ruin— his own ruin. It takes^ 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


133 


some time for a man to become thoroughly bad. Nobotiy, as the 
sage has it, becomes wicked in a day. Nor had Roderick, lie 
was a bad man early in his years, though he carried H off with 
youth, and stature, and power, so that nobody was very severe 
upon him. His own misconduct had arisen out of the fact that he 
- had married a wife whom he detested sis months after he married 
her, and whom he found it necessary to suppress. He did not sup - 
press her by murdering her, but he removed her from his house, 
and she died at a distance from it, and he never attended her fun- 
eral. That was when be was quite a young man. To be sure there 
were various opinions about his wife. A woman who is seen in 
full career after dark, with nothing round her but her night-dress, 
anti who is only brought to a dead stop by hitting her head on a hard 
buttress and dropping in a faint, gives reasonable suspicion to 
those who have observed her of being either mad or drunk. Those 
who did discover Mrs. Leslie in that pitiful condition thought she 
might be either, and having carried her home, they gave to Mi. 
I^eslie more of their sympathy than to her. Public opinion, in 
fact, condoned his treatment of her, and it had gone on condoning 
for a generation in him what it would have condemned in another 
man. For, after all, he pulled the strings of a power which was 
IT ore far-reaching than any one in his neighborhood. No doubt 
the doctor carried about, under his hat, nearly ail the domestic se- 
crets of the community. He knew every ailment as it came up, 
and how far it was connected with mere physical default or deeper 
moral depravity. The minister, too, had his share of secrets in 
the case of souls which had epened themselves out to him in their 
hours of distress. But they did not knew hew accounts stood at 
the bank. They could not look their neighbors in the face with 
the latent intimation in their eye, “ A word, and you are stranded, 
my friend.” 

That, however, was the relationship in which Leslie had stood ta 
the community, and from time to time he did strand a struggling 
haberdasher or an incon\enifint farmer. It maintained his position, 
and satisfied any little vengeance, which arose in the transactions of 
life. It was thus that he had gone on existing as a potentate in 
Ruddersdale, courted by everybody, feared by everybody ; but sup- 
posed to be essential during a period when there was no head but 
himself. Nor was it an unenviable scrl of lite be allowed himself 
to lead. He farmed a little lor his (-wn amusen.ent in the neigh- 
borhood of Dunbeath Rouse, using the farm as a loJge, from which 
iie roamed the woods and the moors between August and January. 


134 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


The lodge was sometimes tull of people of the highest considera- 
lion, who had beeo invited on his own responsibility to do what 
execution they could among the birds. He had never been able to 
get any of the dukes to shoot with him, cr even to satisfy their ap- 
petites at his well-spread table; but a good many of the people who 
came among the dukeries were not so particular. He had enter- 
tained a whole generation of younger sons— to some of them he 
had lent considerable bank-notes— young honorables, ycung lords, 
young gentlemen who had been turned out upon life to sinE or 
swim, with no money, magnificent connections, and no taste or 
particular ability for work. They found Leslie agreeable company, 
and he found them agreeable touts for his own popularity in regions 
where it was important to him that he should be popular. ,In 
truth, he had all a proprietor’s consideration, and it had become so 
4igreeable to him in the course of years, that the more he was called 
to regard the possibility of having 1c resign his authority, the less 
he liked it. Yet he was confronted with nothing short of that peril 
to his position, and as he sat in his chair, trying to consider him- 
self asleep this evening, the peril grew and grew upon him. Fate 
seemed to be gathering round him a chamber of iron, in which he 
was about to be crushed. And all so suddenly! The sign of it 
had been the arrival of this man Nixon, coming into the village 
v.’ith his inquiries about Mina Dutie. There had been a prolonga- 
tion of the sign in the behavior cf Mrs. Harper, who was putting 
on her bonnet on Sundays and going to church, and otherwise be- 
having as if she might recant and throw light upon his and her 
own past. Then a cap seemed about to be put upon the whole thing 
by the returned miner declaring that he had buried Sir Thomas 
Diinbeath in an Australian gully. 

Sleep, light slumber, a solitary nod over his shirt front, was not 
possible to him. He rose and descended his stairs, candle in hand, 
let himself into his bank-parlor, and opened his safe. He took out 
roll after roll of notes —soiled one-pounds which had been circulated 
tiil they were in tatters, new five-pounds which crackled agreeably, 
unused ten- pound notes which lay together like packs of cards. He 
-deposited bag after bag of gold, untied the mouths cf them, and 
looked in; rattled them as if he were a miser, which he was not; 
calculated there were thirty thousand pounds under his hands, and 
thought of the next bank holiday. Before the worst came to the 
worst, might he not manage a passage to Norway, uudetected, and 
from thence to America? He smiled at the idea, for he had been a 
good business man, and the bank had not been a penny the poorer 


CRADLE AJs^D SPADE. 


135 


for him; he hart greatly increased its power and deposits. He 
smiled, but he thought of Nixon’s inquiries, Nancy at the grave, 
and Armstrong swearing to a recognition of the proprietor; and as- 
he put away the bundles and bags in their places he began to 
think, if the worst did come to the worst, it might be possible to 
prolong an undetected existence abroad on the plunder he might 
make. Ah, that grave! What a fool he bad been! What a secret 
it inclosed! fle shuddered as he locked his dcor, and involun- 
tarily looked over his own shoulder as he ascended his stairs to his 
room again. 

He believed, however, in his luck, and thought there was still 
one chance for him. The working of the gold might checkmate 
every other move of the invisible enemy W'ho seemed to be playing 
a game' to his destruction. There was only one delay in connec- 
tion with it. His friends in the south could not get it taken up. 
Porteous had tried it everywhere, and reported that “ mining cir- 
cles,” though proverbially sanguine and willing to anticipate ores, 
drew the line upon British gold. Anything else they were open to 
support, but gold they couhl not be got to have any faith'in. That 
did not daunt him, however. There were other exchanges, he told 
himself, as he had told' Porteous before, and to these the products 
of his shafts should be carried. Out of these exchanges he might 
make enough to line his pockets without getting himself further 
into the meshes of the law. But that Nixon! that Nancy! that 
grave! he murmured, as he sat down once more to stare into the 
fire. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

DAW'N OP LOVE. 

Love does not vary much in its mode of operation. It comes to 
the red heart of a maid among the mountains very much as it visits 
a young lady in a drawing-room. The latter, being civilized, is 
forewarned; the former, being a little out of the way of civilization, 
has nothing to forearm her but her tastes and predilections. 

Love visited the heart of Elspeth Gun after her chat with Nixon 
on the mountain, and it produced various strange effects. Her 
eyes, which were clear and gray, and saw as far as an eagle’s,, 
changed their hue. Instead of that trank pellucidity which covered 
no after-thought, there grew the film of introspection which seemed 
to the shepherd’s wife to mean the beginning of illness. She be 


136 


CEADLE AKB SPADE. 


<5ame listless Irom morning till night. She sung no more at home 
—only in the ravines ana tj herself. Her ear seemed to be con- 
stantly on the alert, and she listened as it for the sound of footsteps. 
Slie was observed, both by father and mother, at various times 
during the day, to be scanning the horizon toward the sea. 

Oliver and Christina became natJirally rather alarmed. 

Coming in on one of those occasions, Oliver said— 

“ What's the matter with the lassie?" 

■“ Dc you think there’s anything the matter?" 

"•Yes, 1 do." 

" W*hat makes 3 ’ou think it?" 

""Her face." 

“Ay?" 

"Ay." 

" You needn’t repeat my w'ords, Oliver, as if 1 didn’t hear you. 
1 hear you well enough. Ihe girl’s still but a growing lassie." 

" Yes, yes, but she’s different from what I’ve known her. 1 
think it was the devil himself sent that go'd to the burnside. It’s 
since theh that she has looked different from what I ever knew 
her." 

"1 fold you, Oliver, nothing but harm would come from not 
throwing the dust away. 1 knew it. 1 said it to you. You can’t 
deny that." 

** Ay, ay, you always know best." 

She’s thinking of what the gold could buy her. She’s getting 
tired of the shieling. Siie’s building castles in the air, and that’s 
your fault, Oliver; yours, and not mine." 

" Poor lassie, it’s hard on her to he here at the fcol of the mount- 
ain forever." 

Mrs. Gun said no more, but found something for herself to do, 
when she saw Elspeth, followed by a dog, crossing the plank over 
the burn and coming toward the door. Oliver sat in his shirt- 
sleeves and said nothing when she entered, but he watched her nar- 
rowly, and as htr fingers seemed to touch the ornament at her 
fhroat without thought, he sighed and broke out— 

" Lassie!" 

’’ Yes, father." 

" Lassie, I’m sorry for the day that you ever found t! ,1 yellow 
stuff in the basin. It has not been a godsend at all. If 1 see any 
mere of it, i’ll lake it up the mountain with me and throw it to the 
winds.’’ 

" What would you do that for, father?" 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


rsr 

“ Because it’s bad for us to be thinking of it. What would you 
and me do with it if we had as much of it as would make three or 
. tour great big heaps out at the door? What better would it be to 
us than heaps of sand? What better is it than sand, only a little 
yellower and a little heavier?” 

” May be, I’m not thinking much about it.” 

” Ay, but you are, though. You’re wishing you had more of 
it. Tou’re thinking what it would buy you down in Ruddersdale;. 
you’re supposing that if you were rich that you would be line and 
pleased with yourself all day down amcng the grandees. I know 
what you are thinking.” 

Elspeth said nothing, but sat down and folded her arms and 
sighed, and a coJlie looked at her from the side of the chair and 
sighed too. 

“ Poor fellow, what is it you’re thinking about? Net the gold, 
ril be bound,” she said, unfolding her hands to pat his head. ” 1 
think,” she added, ‘‘ as little about it, and care as little about it as 
ho does. Gold! Mother said it was trash at the beginning— trash 
let it be, then.” 

” That’s a sensible lassie new. Yes, it’s trash. Have we not all 
we desire — tbe mountain aii, mild or strong, according as we choose 
our airt, that they can not buy for all the money in the world in 
their great cities? Is the burn not leaping with trout and the river 
alive w'ith salmon? And may I not take a bird on the wing, if 
we desire it?— ay, or kill a lamb, if you would have a change to 
your eating? Are we not very well off, Elspeth, all of us? ” 

” 1 made no complaint, father.” 

“No?” 

“ What could 1 complain about? But when will you take me to 
Ruddersdale again? It’s no love to buy or to be seen that would 
take me there now. 1 have something 1 would like to say and to do. 
No, father. I’ll not tell you what it is. Collie dog, come with me 
to the hill.” She went out, and Oliver called his wife and said— 

“ Wife, there’s something working in the lassie’s heart. Look 
at her nuw going over the burn. She’s higher than this house. 
See to her, and her noble way of going up and over the rock. 
And she says there’s something she would like to do down at Rud- 
dersdale. Not about the gold, for I think she’s like you — she con- 
siders it trash.” 

“ It w'as with the gold that these notions came to her first, i’ll 
always think cf them together. Weary fall the hour she found it. 
It’ll be bringing great changes upon us, I misdoubt, and I wouldn’t 


138 


CEADLE SPADE. 


^ive my liltle shieling and my peace and plenty for as much ot it 
as 1 see on the M’hole west of the sky any time the sun is going 
down and throwing it about him in hundreds ot miles of it.” 

” Ihe sun flings it away like the prodigal come into a fortune. 
Well, it should make us lenient to the prodigal. May be ihe spend' 
thiift’s contempt has as much truth in it as the miser’s hoard.” 

” Go out, Oliver, and see where the lassie has gone to,” 

She had not gone very far, but the shepherd, following on her 
footsteps, stalked her as if she were a dter. She had ascended be- 
hind the shieling and made a circuit of the moor, returning upon 
her footsteps toward the river. He did likewise. When he thought 
she was looking at him he suddenly stooped. He crawled occa- 
sionally on his belly that he might not be seen. Then, suddenly he 
saw, far down the valley, a man working with a spade on the verge 
of the river-bed, and he became convinced that there was some con- 
nection between that and Elspeth’s restlessness. He lay behind a 
knoll and watched. Truly Elspeth descended to the river edge and 
^approached the workman. The shepherd lay and watched. She 
went down, and the man stopped, shaded his eyes, looked at his 
muddy feet and legs, got up on the bank, took his coat off a willow 
branch where it hung, and rapidly went toward Elspeth. The 
shepherd had an old telescope which he used for stalking rieei. He 
wished he had brought it with him. It was in three compartments, 
and was clumsy to carry; still he thought be had better go home 
for it and make up his mind, from personal observation, w hat this 
meeting meant. While he crawled out of his knoll, Elspeth and 
INixon (for it was Joseph) approached and shook hands with each 
other. 

“ I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” 

‘‘ Have you?” 

Yes; 1 thought you would be back f 3r some cause or other.” 

So 1 am— for gold.” 

And have you found any, then?” 

” 1 haven’t tried very seriously as yet. You see, I’m not an old 
hand. I’m fresh to this kind of thing, and though old Russell has 
given me a cradle, 1 don’t quite know how to rock it. It has taken 
me a couple of days to bring it up as far as this; the first day tc the 
end of the ravine right behind Ruddersdale, the second day up here. 
I’m not so sanguine as 1 was, but that’s no reason why 1 shouldn’t 
be very glad to see you.” 

“It’s very good of you to say that you are glad I’ve come down. 
1 don’t know why or how it is, but you’ve been in my head a great 


CEADLE AXD SPADE. 


139 


deal since 1 first saw you. I’ve been thinking about you, and 
wishing that you would come up the river again.” 

“Ah!” said Nixon, looking keenly at Elspeth, an(3 discovering 
in her gray eyes that there was sadness and gladness strangely 
mingled in the expression of them; ‘‘1 couldn’t have hoped that 
you would have remembered me again.” 

” Remember you.” 

‘‘Yes, I’ve otten met people who, the next time they saw me, 
forgot me and didn’t want to renew the acquaintance. Why, girl, 
that’s half the secret of civilization.” 

” Then, may 1 be a poor savage to the end of my days!” 

” And how has Cnoc Dhu been behaving to you? You were 
very proud ot him the last time 1 saw you — wouldn’t hear a word 
against him, called him by every endearing term. Has he been 
foggy or stormy, or simply vast, high, cold, and keeping his own 
counsel?” 

” Oh, Cnoc Dhu!” said Elspeth, sighing. 

” Yes,” said Nixon, looking her all over and turning to the hill 
in time to see a head and a telescope looking in his direction. The 
head bobbed, and the telescope disappeared, but not betore Elspeth 
had seen it. 

‘‘It’s father.” 

‘‘ What’s he doing?” 

” Looking at us.” 

“ What does he suspect?” 

‘‘ Nothing.” 

Elspeth, when she first saw Nixon, thought she had a great deal to 
say to him.. It all seemed to have vanished, now they were face to 
face. Her speechlessness annoyed herself, for she had intended to 
tell him how she had made up her mind to help him to discover 
his sweetheart, and how she thought a little talk with Nancy would 
make her explain her suspicion about the girl never being on board 
the wreck at all. Rut she found herself under difficulties. She 
could not tell him what she thought with the freedom she had an- 
ticipated. The subject became difiScult to her all ol a sudden, and 
it covered her with confusion, and made her feel shy, because she 
wished to speak ot it and was not able. 

‘‘ Now, you haven’t found any gold?” 

‘‘ Come down to the river-edge and see. You will like to look 
into the apparatus 1 am using. It is an odd sort of thing. They 
call ifia cradle — the old miners down in Ruddersdale.” 

They went down the bank together, and he helped her on to the 


140 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


stones, and they went over them to the shingle at the edge ot the 
brown water, down whicli masses of while foam were sailing from 
a waterfall high up. There were deep holes dug in the sand. Water 
had flowed into them.' In the “ cradle ” there was nothing but 
mud. It was balanced upon two stones, and had evidently been 
industriously swung from side to side, tilted and capsized and 
steadied, all in vain. J^o gold— not the color ot a grain. 

“ 1 found it without all that trouble,” said Elspeth. 

“You were lucky.” 

” We’re all wishing now we hadn’t discovered a single grain.” 

” Why?” 

” 1 don’t know.” 

1 don’t see why you should wish that. It’s a very good thing 
in its way. We can't build houses with it, we can’t have it to 
breakfast, and it won’t save our immortal souls; but it’s the illu- 
sion that keeps mortals rushing about.” 

”1 don’t understand you.” 

‘‘ If you had lived in a town a little you would. Don’t you 
know if people didn’t want to find gold they would be doing worse 
things? Thej' would be lying down on their beds and falling asleep 
and wishing they were dead. But the yellow will-c’-the-wisp, it 
keeps flickering in the distance. They are all chasing it, tripping 
each other up, trampling on each other’s toes, elbowing each other, 
knocking each other down; and the will-o’-the-wisp dances away 
ahead cf them, out into the marshes and the mountains. But it’s 
good for them, 1 say. Ko man ever catches it, even when he is 
called rich. Why, when he is rich they give him a little book ot 
paper slips, and the Will-o’-the-wisp has danced into some bank- 
dungeon.” 

” What it is to have lived in town!” 

” 1 see your father’s telescope again looking down at us. Let me 
wave my hat at him, and ask him to come down. Hillol shepherd, 
sliepherd!” 

“My lather’s shy.’' 

“ He doesn’t like to be seen seeing us.” 

“ ^lo; but won’t you come, up to the house again, and get your 
tea? You’ve worked hard enough for one day.” 

“ 1 should like to; but then you won’t let me pay my way, and 
1 don’t care about eating free.” 

“ Such nonsense!” 

“But il’.s true.” 


CRADLE AXD SLADE. 


UI 


Well, then, i’ll begin to tell you how it is that I fancy youi 
sweetheait— ” 

“Ah! my sweetheait!” 

“ Yes, your— the young lady you told me about.” 

“ My sweetheart!” 

And Elspeth’s wistful gray eyes met the eyes of Nixon, and for 
the moment they forgot the sweetheart on Corstorphine Hill. The}'” 
were only aware that they were looking at each other, with no 
thought in Iheii minds but themselves. 


CHAPTER XXVll. 

, A MORNING CALL. 

Mina sat at a window with her housekeeping book. It was the 
labor of her life. She could never get it to balance. The sherifl: 
had told her that the two sides of the account ought always to be 
the same, that creditor at the foot of the page at the end of the 
week should stare debtoi in the face, and look at him like a twin 
brother. If they did not shake hands, then she had figured bad- 
ly if they did, then she had made up her book like an accountant 
in large practice. That occasionally involved the lifting the piece 
of a salmon or a- joint from one side to the other; but by aid of a lit- 
tle manipulation of such things, she got things to balance, and the 
sherift praised her dexterity, and she felt rather clever. She was 
laboring away at her book, sometimes touching a bell-handle to 
bring the housekeeper for an explanation, sometimes leaning on her 
elbow to look out into the grounds, and to see how spring was 
gradually advancing into early summer and covering the shrub- 
beries with leaves, when she heard the sound of wheels. Not the 
sheriff back again! A carriage stopped at the outer door, and she 
leaned over to see. No, not the sheriff; only her favorite detesta- 
tion, Mrs. Gibson. The old lady got down at the door, shook her 
dress about her feet a little, looked round the grounds, and walked 
in. 

Mina went into the drawing-room and found her enthroned at 
the window, with her arms foldad. She had a masculine, pasty 
face, the jaw of singular solidity, the eyes cf an inexpressive hue, 
and the ncse abrupt. She was dressed in the deepest mourning, 
iboiigb, much to her own satisfaction, she had buried her husband 
a sufficiently long time ago to adopt a lighter color. She was not the 


143 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


least welcome at Durie Den, and she had the look of carrying 
it by storm and contemning the opinion of the inhabitants. 
She did not rise when Mina entered; nor did she relax the stern 
rigidity ot her visage, she only held out her hand, with dignity, 
and asked Mina to be seated. 

“ The sheriff, of course, is not at home?” 

“ISo, he’s in town.” 

“ I never see him now. He makes himself very valuable.” 

” He has so much to do.” 

‘‘ Oh, 1 dare say the law takes it out of a man. But 1 suppose 
jmu know that the sheriff is not one of the working lawyers; he’e 
one of the ornamental ones— I was going to say a nice young man 
for a small tea-party— but 1 suppose there’s something more in it 
than that” 

1 don’t understand you.” 

'■ Well, you see a nice man for a small tea-party is that kind of 
mincing, ambling, obliging young gentleman who wouldn’t hurt 
the feeling of a fly, and who, in consequence, gets the treatment of 
a fly from every spider who comes in sight of him.” 

•* Excuse me, Mrs. Gibson, but 1 don’t at all like my papa to be 
talked ot in that style. He is not a nice young man lor a small tea- 
party at all. he is a great sheriff engaged upon a great book; and 1 
think good taste might suggest to you — ” 

Mina’s lips quivered, and if her indignation had been matched to 
appropriate language, Mrs. Gibson would have been annihilated. 

Oh, it you are gcing to cry. I’ll ring for my carriage. And, I 
can assure you that 1 put myself to a great deal of trouble to be 
over early this morning to congratulate you. It was highly incon- 
venient for me, but 1 determined that I would not be one to neglect 
my plain duty. Congratulate you 1 would. But indeed, now that 
1 see you, Mina Durie, 1 think 1 had better condole with you. You 
are very frail-looking; you are exactly the kind of girl that goes 
into a rapid decline and passes away in a few weeks. It’s not 1 
that should have been out of my bed. 1 have a plaster on my 
back, and I’m not allowed to touch anything stronger than cold 
water. Yet 1 would come out to congratulate you, and this is the 
treatment you give me.” 

Mis. Gibson moved uneasily in her chair, and looked a little in 
need of human sympathy, which Mina gave her. 

'* Oh, but doctors don’t know everything at all times, Mrs. Gib- 
son. Let me ring for some sherry.” 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


14o 


There’s no harm in sherry,” said Mrs. Gibson, contemptuously. 

” No, 1 think not. Brin^» the sherry.” 

” You do continue to remind me, Miss Durie, of my sister 
Maria’s second girl. She was not so frail-looking as you by a good 
half. No. But she took a nasty dry cough, and it woke her in the 
morning, and she coughed, coughed, coughed. I recommended 
Maria to give her warm milk and a glass of rum indt the moment 
she wakened. But would Maria do it, do you think? That poor 
creature, her husband — a poor, feckless, fushionless thing, he never 
did any good in the world; he was always being over ears in debt 
because he would be my gentleman, by his way of it, and rather 
than lake his own debtors by the ears and wring them, he would be 
in debt himself and have me helping him. A fine thing! He 
couldn’t be expected to live. His nerves were too fine for this 
world. He died of a broKen heart, and not out of time either, lor 
1 paid his debts twice, and he nevei would let his daughter take 
my prescription. After he died, however, 1 found there was owing 
him over a thousand; so 1 made them pay up. Yes; but Maria, 
poor thing, just like you, she pined and wasted away, and died of 
a hacking cough and blood in the morning. I’m soiry you’re so 
like her.” 

Mina knew that some of her strength lay in looking as if she 
were rather ill, and it was not disagreeable to her to be reminded 
that she had an interesting fragility of appearance. But Mrs. Gib- 
son was too strong. 

‘‘ 1 hope 1 shall not die of a hacking cough.” she said. 

” You may not, but you look very like it, my dear. I'his is vis-, 
itors’ sherry you’re giving me. T know the difference. Oh, yes, I 
know. I have no fault to find with it except that it is very weak. 
1 have tasted better sherry in the sheriff’s house. But I’m forget- 
ting what ] came for. My writer tells me that there is a rumor 
that you are the daughter of Sir Thomas Dunbeath. More than a 
rumor — he told it me as a positive fact— -under the rose — that there 
is no doubt you are the baronet’s heir, and he mentions your fort- 
une at a great figure. It’ll take a little time, he says, to adjust all 
the threads, but they are in clever hands, he says, and in a short 
time we will be having you stepping into a great position. I 
couldn’t have believed it possible, for 1 must say that 1 have my 
own supicions about you, Mina Durie. 1 alw^ays regarded you as 
an unfortunate foundling, that the father of you daren’t own. Yes, 
that is what you Iook most like to me at all times. I may tell you 
the truth now, when other prospects are opening up to you. I 


144 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


think this sherry is so weak that ] could take a little of it in a bed- 
room tumbler.” 

Mina rang tor one. 

” You have no delicacy,” Mrs. Gibson said. “ You might have 
gone for it yourself. These servants always make such a talk. 
However, let them — let them.” And she put on a look of larger 
dignity than she had as yet assumed, when the tumbler was brought 
to her; but the sound of wheels under the window had the effect 
of making her secrete it beneath her chair, while Mina rose to see 
who had arrived. 

” Mrs. Finlay, 1 declare! And Bessie and Gerty. Why, all 
Corstorphine's ccming to-day, Ido declare.” 

Mrs. Gibson pursed her lips. She bad a standing feud with “ all 
Corstorphine, ” and she made up her mind, being summarily de- 
prived of her bedrcom tumbler, that she would sit Mrs. Finlay out.. 

“ Well, your ladyship!” said Mrs. Finlay, sailing into the room,., 
and kissing Mina on both cheeks. 

” Oh, Mina!” said Gerty. 

” Mina, 1 knew you were something,” said Bessie. 

” I am like somebody who wrote a poem, and woke next morn- 
ing and found himself famous. 1 really seem to be known all over 
Corstorphine.” 

” My dear,” pursued Mrs. Finlay, ” it’s the greatest news. Why^ 
don’t you know you’ll be one of the richest girls in all Scotland? 
You’ll have untold thousands a year. Y’‘ou’ll have a castle to your- 
self, you’ll own a river, you’ll have a harbor, and a share in some 
local steam-boats, and cobles.” 

” And some mountains, mamma?” 

” And a few mountains.” 

” And no end of sheep, mamma?” 

” And flocks by the hundred.” 

” And anybody in the world she likes to marry?” 

” Yes, if she’s not a goose and doesn’t throw herself away on 
that ‘ stickit minister ’ they are all talking about.” 

” 1 don’t know any ‘ stickit minister,’ ” said Mina. ” But don’t 
ycu think you are all a little premature with your congratulations? 
Here is Mrs. Gibson ” (Mrs. Finlay hardly inclined her head in the 
direction of the lady, who was more conscious of the bedroom 
tumbler at her feet than of anything else), ” who has been saying 
all sorts of flattering things to me.” 

“My dear,” said Mrs. Gibson, stiffly, her foot tilting her tum- 
bler, and sending a stream of sherry over the carpet, of which sh& 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


145 


was perfectly unconscious. It flowed out, however, and betrayed 
her. 

Grerty saw it at once and widened her eyes and opened her mouth 
with such an air of unsubdued astonishment that Bessie, who was 
looking at her, followed the direction of her eyes and rested on the 
sherry, with a gaze of a similar description. 

Mrs Gibson was not blind. She saw that something had hap- 
pened. She gently insinuated her right heel toward the tumbler, 
but could not find it; she sent her left after it with a little vehe- 
mence and hit the tumbler. 

It rolled out on the floor, and Mrs. Finlay, looking at it, said, 
“ Mina, my dear, one w^ould think you kept an habitual drunkard 
at Durie Den.” 

Mina flew at the tumbler and removed it. She remembered that 
Mrs. Gibson had accused her of a want of delicacy in not going tor 
it at first. She was determined not to betray the old lady, so she 
laid it on a table, exclaiming, ” How it could have got there, 1 can’t 
say. l^ow, dear Mrs. Finlay, will you be refreshed? And Bessie 
and Gerty?” 

They ccnsented to be refreshed, and Mrs. Finlay returned to the 
subject of their call. “You know, Mina, you take it disappoint 
ingly. Indeed 1 have no right to call you, Mina, without asking 
your leave — a great lady like youl” 

‘‘ 1 was a little disappointed,” said Gerty. ” 1 always thought 
you were a foreign princess. 1 made up my mind long ago that 
you would be found out to be the heir to a throne.” 

” That’s your nonsense, Gerty.” 

‘‘No, dear, she always said so,” remarked Bessie, rising to the 
piano to look at a new piece of music, and taking off one glove to 
hear how it ran. 

*' Well, but, Mina Durie, when are you coming into your own ?”" 
demanded Mrs. Finlay. 

” When 1 get it.” 

” And you won’t marry the ‘ stickit ’ minister?” 

‘‘ 1 don’t know who he is.” 

” The man who broke down in the pulpit somewhere when he was 
preaching his first sermon, and had to be carried out on the beadle’s 
back.” 

” Oh, mal” shouted Gerty. 

” Well, Fm sure somebody told me that.” 

” No, ma dear, you are thinking of Mr. Nixon.” 

31ina looked pained, and asked Mrs. Gibson if she would really. 


146 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


leally not take a glass ot sherry. Mrs. G’bson said that, now they 
were all taking it, she would not be peculiar, but she eschewed the 
bedroom tumbler. 

“ Yes, of Nixon — that was the name— the man who was carried 
out on the beadle’s back. 1 must say that if the heir to all these 
mountains and things were to marry him, she would deserve her 
fate,” 

“ 1 was telling her,” remarked Mrs. Gibson, raising her voice to 
drown the sound of the piano, “ 1 was remarking tc her when you 
■came in, that 1 thought she was very like my sister’s second child, 
who died of a hacking cough.” 

“That was consoling. No! 1 had two girls who died of that, 
and 1 know Mina’s symptoms. She’ll go through life getting sym- 
pathy from all kinds of fat old things like you and me, and she’ll 
be supposed to be dying at every stage, and she’ll go on till she’s 
ninety-six. Where have your eyes been, Mrs. Gibson, not to know 
that her sort of frailty is the greatest strength? 1 wish any of my 
girls had halt her strength. But she'll need it all, with this as- 
tounding fortune that is falling to her.” 

“ 1 must say,” said Mina, “ that you all seem to know a great 
deal more about it than 1 do. It is a mere rumor — a mere sus- 
picion — a whisper that may come to nothing.” 

Ihe dcor opened, and a young gentleman in a velvet jacket came 
in. It was Bobby Bertram. He was followed by his sister. Mrs. 
Pinlay did not look overpleased. She had definitely ascertained 
that Bobby had five hundred a year of his own, and she thought 
Gerty might be tacked on to such an income with great advantage 
to herself.” 

“1 hope 1 see your ladyhip in possession of good health and 
spirits. I’m going up with an easel to paint the bonfires when you 
go home to your estates.” 

“ Mina, 1 am so glad!” said Bobby’s sister. 

Presently the door opened again, and a dapper gentleman, who 
bad made an egregicus fortune from discovering the lacteal prin- 
ciples ot cocoa, and who lived behind the Bertrams, came forward, 
and, smiling, shook hands with Mina. “ How d’ye do, Mrs. Gib — ? 
How d’ye do, Mrs. Fin—? How— 1 have heard, with the greatest; 
pleasure, that you have been discovered— that you are the true heir 
to the great Ruddersdale estates — that, after a few preliminaries, 
everything will be adjusted, and you will be restored to your own.” 

Mina began to feel her head swim. Surely, there must be more 
truth in it than she supposed. Surely she was Lady Dunbeath. 


CKADLE AKB SPADE. 


ur 


All the world would not be sa3dng so, it something bad not tran- 
spired. 

“Who told you? What have you heard? Papa does not believe 
it.” 

Those who were over their fifties exchanged significant glances, 
and Mina sat d(.wn, putting her hand into Gerty’s for support. 
Gerty stroked it, and looked at Bobby, who put up his eye glass. 

“ It makes me feel a little weak,” said Mina; “ 1 shall go to my 
room for a few minutes.” 

” She will die of a hacking cough,” ejaculated Mrs. Gibson. 

“ She will live to be an old woman,” said Mrs. Finlay. 

“ 1 would rather marry a girl that would give me another 
chance,” said Bobby, while Bessie renewed her tune. 


CHAPTER XXVllI. 

AT THE WINDOW. 

The Flesh Market Close is not an aristocratic place to dine at, 
but at this date it was the best in Edinbuigh: and people who had 
or affected old-fashioned habits, ignored its proximity to a great 
meat market, and wandered into it at mid-day when they were 
hungry. Usher went because the sheriff went, and he did not 
choose to overlook a single opportunity of cultivating his acquaint- 
ance. It w’as a dingy region, with all the whistling of the engines 
of the JSorth British Railway coming up to it, undeafenerl, and all 
the banging and smashing of goods trains which were being shunt- 
ed for the travelers* goods. He met Porleus there one day by ap- 
pointment, and that safe broker, sitting down at the table with 
him, broached a large sanguinary steak and a tankaid, and began 
to talk about Ruddersdale. 

“ 1 have a letter from Leslie every post,” he said. 

‘‘Have you? What has he got to say?” 

“ He says something different every mail.” 

“ Yes, 1 shouldn’t suppose his gold to be a perinanent quantity. 
Can’t you change the company, Porteus, and make if peats, her 
rings, or birds’ eggs?” 

“ Can’t be done, sir. It’s gold or nothing.” 

“ Yes, 1 think it is the latter. Waiter, I’ve told you half a dozen 
times that 1 don’t like vinegar in my mustard, t can stand a little 
vinegar in a salad, but 1 like my mustard unadulterated as it comes 


148 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


from the fields, and 1 prefer a spcon which has not done duty as a 
toddy-ladle last night nor as an egg-spoon this morning— a spoon 
foi the mustard, you understand; and we will ring tor you, waiter, 
when we want to tell you about last week's weather and the pros- 
pects of the crops.” 

” You use great liberties with him. See if your steak comes up 
to-morrow as good as it is to-day.” 

‘‘ He annoys me, rather, on occasions like this, Portecus. We 
require the room for ourselves, and tor that object he must have 
his feelings wounded. It will keep him away for at least halt an 
hour, even if we ring the bell for him half a dozen times in the 
interval.” 

“Artful advocate!” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, the gold stands like this: 1 have printed your prospec- 
tus; 1 have circulated it; and what’s the result? Ridicule. Ridi- 
cule everywhere. "^All the financial journals have been passing 
jokes over it.'* 

“ What! a joke in a financial journal! A jape in a city organ! 
Something really humorous among the men with the purses?” 

“They are the only men who laugh.” 

“ Yes, horse-laughter cn Hohbe’s definition of it— laughter at 
the fall of a neighbor, giving themselves a sense of power. Noth- 
ing better than that. Who did you take it to in the West of 
Scotland?” 

“ Kolms & Herr.” 

“ Germans?” 

“Mongrels.” 

“And what did they say?” 

“ Laughed at it, too.” 

“ Are they anybody?” 

“ Not yet, but they are going up. They send away three hun- 
dred telegrams a day from the Stock Exchange. A very good in 
dication of what they can do. They are backed by three millions 
from London. Herr, biother to Kolm’s Herr, the great Q.O., who 
refused a Master of Rolls the week before last, has only to lift 
his little finger, and a million more or a million less, it is of no 
consequence, will go to Kolms & Herr. 1 hope he won’t cut his 
fingers. Finance is two-edged and has no handle.” 

“ Still, Herr, the Q.C., can draw upon the Bank of Verbosity to 
any extent. To borrow a phrase from another profession, he is the 
mostboiborigmal cf speakers and writers. That is his pain and his 


CRADLE AXD SPADE, 


U9 


power. Sir Pete Mason was talking to me about him. Sir Pete is 
a very well-meaning nonentity, who goes on endeavoring to con- 
vince himself and other people that he is a public man; he knows 
the Q.C., however, and his opinion is that he will not accept one 
of the numerous judgeships thrown at his head by the representa- 
tions of a bar dying to see him shelved, until he has lived to abolish 
the distinctions between English and Scotch law. In order to en- 
able him to abolish these distinct ions he will stand as a crofters’ 
candidate on the estate of Mr. Kircaldy at the next election. He is 
violently socialistic; but then a man who commands millions may 
be anything he likes.” 

'* 1 suppose he may; but I wish he would put this gold mine busi- 
ness into ihe hands of Kolms & Herr. 1 suppose Sir Pete Mason 
hasn’t enough of influence to induce the great Q.C. to advise in 
that sense.” 

“No. Sir Pete is ornamental — nothing more. He will die of 
considering himsalf a frustrated public man. Besides, he under- 
stands gold-digging on its own ground and laughs at our geology.” 

“That’s just it. Let me ring for some more of this foaming 
ale.” 

“ Ring away. He won’t come for half an hour. JNow, it strikes 
me, in connection with the prospectus, that 1 will run along to 
Huddersdsle and see Leslie for a night and liear what he thinks of 
one or two things. For the coming week 1 have nothing to do of 
the least importance, and a peep at the locality with my own eyes 
might be serviceable in different ways.” 

“ It might. Some more ale, Charles. There have been several 
men down examining the place, all more or less skillful mining en- 
gineers; but they come back shaking their lieads.” 

“ Less than more skillful,” said Usher, rising and going out. 
Two nights later, however, with a traveling cap on his head, he 
was looking out of the stage coach as it rolled along the Marnock 
B’irth toward Ruddersdale. He was going to the seat of the gold- 
fever less to satisfy himself about the ore than to find out what he 
might about Mina Durie, from observers cn the spot. He felt that 
IMixon had a great advantage over him in having made it his mis- 
sion to spend time at Ruddersdale in asking questions. 

It was an advantage that he intended to minimize He was 
afraid that he must see Joseph in his journey; but he would avoid 
liirn if he could. He w'ould noc look for him. If he could turn 
his back on him, withoul observing, he would do it. It was not 
Joseph, it was Leslie he wanted to speak to. He had not beeu 


150 


CRADLE Ai^D SPADE. 


r 


five minutes arrived before he crossed from the Duke’s Arms to- 
the bank and was shown up to Leslie’s room. His teeth watered 
at the sight of so much “ business," lying in blue paper and parch- 
ment, and heaped piles of letters upon the table. Leslie came in 
presently with a large air of cordiality about him, and held out his 
hand. 

“Mr. Leslie?” 

“ ^es.” 

“ My name is Usher. 1 am the advocate who has teen doing 
something for your agent in the south, Mr. Porteous.” 

“ Oh, Porteous— of course— yes, to be sure. Did you come with; 
the coach?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Just now?” 

“les.” 

“You haven’t let the grass grow under youi heels. You must 
have stepped down and come over at once.” 

“ Yes, 1 haven’t much time to lose.” 

“ Are your things at the Arms?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That’ll never do. You must bring them in here and let me 
entertain you. We have a good deal to talk about in a little time.” 

Ml. Leslie was standing in his window at the gloaming. It com- 
manded a half-view of the town bridge. On the bridge there were 
two figures, a young man and a young woman. 

“ My dear sir,” said Usher, looking at him as he put his hand to 
his head, and with several ineffectual gasps attempted to get out 
speech; “you are ill — seriously ill. Sit down. Calm yourself. 
What can 1 do for you?” 

Leslie waved his arm in the diiection of the bridge, as if he had 
seen the hearse which was to carry him to his grave, coming along. 
Usher looked. He saw Joseph Nixon and with him a little figure 
in a homely cloak, with her hair lying free and shining upon her 
head; ceitainly she was attractive to the eye. Usher admired 
Joseph’s taste; he could have spent a good hour talking to such aa 
that girl with infinite delight to himself. 

Leslie rose from the chair to which he had momentarily betaken 
himself, and looking, groaned. The pair on the bridge were enjoy- 
ing their conversation. 

“ That man will be my ruin,” groaned the factor. 

“ How so?” 

“ 1 never look on his face but 1 feel myself a condemned man.”' 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


151 


’* It’s that poor simpleton, Joseph Nixon.” 

You know him?” 

” Yes. ” 

” Nixon the miner.” 

” The broken advocate. The softest-hearted fellow in Parlia- 
ment Blouse. 1 should go at once and speak tc him, if 1 were not 
certain he would keep me from more important business. The 
country ail seems to agree with him. He is bronzed and hercu- 
lean within a few weeks. Lack of gold don’t seem to w'eigh n ith 
him. And no wonder — what an exquisite girl! What a pose of 
the bodyl Who is she, sir?” 

‘‘ Come back from the window, friend. That girl — ” But Mr. 
Leslie withdrew to his chair again without speaking. 

‘‘You are ill again?” 

‘‘lam often ill now. 1 believe scmetimes 1 am a dying man. 
It’s here, on the left side — here, where the breathing fails me, and 
1 lose my eyesight and think the end has come, and waken up 
again to find that 1 am still spared. Come out cf the window, sir, 
sit down— they will pass— they will pass, for what have you or 1 
to do with them?” 

‘‘ You may not, Mr. Leslie, but it is important forme, who repre- 
sent the interests cf the true heir to Ruddersdale, to know that 
Nixon, who is supposed to be engaged to her, is not a failliful 
man.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

DOWN THE MOUNTAIN. 

Nixon and Elspeth turned from the bridge and walked through • 
the square. Usher withdrew a step that he might not be recognized 
at the window. His sense of friendship nearly betrayed him. He 
almost opened the window and pui his head out and cried. 

” Nixon, old fellow! How are you? Wait a minute, and i'll come 
down. I’m glad to see you looking sc brown and well.” But he 
looked at Leslie, and restrained himself, and the pair passed cut of 
the square. Usher reflectiug, ‘‘ After all it’s no use my thinking 1 
am friendly to him. He is only a simple, straightforward goose, 
that nobody can dislike. 1 don’t. 1 rather like him, and would 
gladlj" shake hands with him now, yet he is my greatest enemy. 
I’ve got to cut him out, and I needn’t be sentimental.” 

Nixon parted with Elspeth at Nancy’s door, and as that gray 


152 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


dame was not in at the moment, the girl adjourned to her private 
room. There was nobody in the room but a little boy, who was 
half in and half out of an open chest. Elspeth saw only the nether 
half of hira; he was intent upon the contents of the chest, and did 
not turn cr move, but went on diligently rummaging, tearing the 
edges, from time to time, of envelopes, and putting the torn corners 
first into a jacket-pocket, then into his trousers pocket, then into hia 
vest, and, indeed, into all the open receptacles which were ready to 
his hand in any of his garments. Elspeth thought she saw a little 
boy thieving, and standing in the doorway she obser ved, “ Ay, my 
bonny boy, ay; if Nancy was in, you wouldn’t be tearing up her 
letters, 1 know.” 

” You’re not Nancy,” he said, neither coming out of the chest 
nor stopping to look. ” 1 know Nancy wouldn’t mind. Shega^e 
me leave.” 

” What’s this?” said Elspeth, seeing tne end of a strip cf sheep- 
skin waggling at his pocket, advancing to it, and drawing it out. 

‘ Slop that, will you?” said the boy, putting his hands on the 
edge of the chest and vaulting backward. ” She would let me 
have that, if 1 liked. W ho are ycu?” 

‘‘ Me? I’m Elspeth Gun.” 

The boy paused and opened his mouth, and looked so reverential 
and checked, that Elspeth smiled, and held out the strip as if it 
were a toy serpent, moving from side to side of its own initiative. 

“You can have it,” he said. 

” Is it yours to give?” 

” 1 took it out of a corner of the trunk. 1 know Nancy would 
give it to me if 1 asked for it. What is it?” 

” That’s more than 1 know.” 

” It’s a bit of something else.” 

” 1 think it is.” 

” What else do you think?” 

” I couldn't say.” 

‘‘ It’s like sticking- plaster without the stick on it.” 

“ It has words on it—* hereby !—e—p—h~N—i— words and let- 
ters. I’ll put it in my pocket till Nancy comes, and give it her. 
It’s not yours nor mine.” 

” 1 don’t care about it. 1 have all the stamps. Nancy said 1 
could have them. Here’s a couple of awful rare ones— black onea 
trcm Brazil. Here’s a lot from Australia. Here’s triangles — red 
ones— from the Cape of Good Hope. Here’s Baltic stamps, too— 
yellow ones- -from Norway and Germany and Denmark. Every- 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


15 ^') 

body writes to ISIancy. All the skippers that come into Rudders- 
dale write her when they go away. She's awrully jolly. Do you 
like her?" 

“ Yes, 1 like her." 

" TV hat did you come for?" 

*■ To see her. Y'ou’re from the manse?" 

"Yes." 

" What’s your name?” 

" Tim Johnson." 

" Tim?" 

" Yes." 

" Were .you born Tim?" 

" No, 1 was born Timothy. Geordie, my big brother, calls me 
Timothy Tight Breeks, but that’s not my right name. I’m Tim 
Johnson." 

" You’ll not like to be called Timothy Tight Breeks.” 

" What do 1 care? 1 can always call him Uncle Geordie, and he 
bates it; and when he’s going out at the gate with his swell hat on 
1 can throw mud balls at him. He doesn’t like that either. 1 
threw three mud balls one Sunday afternoon— but you don’c care 
to hear about it?" 

'* No, 1 don’t like bad boys," 

" Here’s Nancy. " 

" Elspelh Gun, then, if I’m not blind!" 

‘‘ Yes, Nancy, it’s me, all the way from Cnoc Dhu, and veiy 
glad to see yen." 

Elspeth had put the parchment into her pocket and forgotten it. 
But the trunk w^as open, and Nancy saw her letters had been tam- 
pered with. 

" Turn out your pockets," she said with some severity to Tim. 
" Turn them cmt. You had no business to bo rummaging there. 
Who knows what you may have been reading?" 

" 1 haven’t had no time to read nothing. I was only taking the 
stamps eft. Ask her." 

" Show me what’s in your pockets, boy," 

" There, then; but you’re getting mean, Nancy." 

" Ay; but you had no business tc be searching in my chest. 
There’s thirty or forty years o’ things there, and some things that 
some people would be sorry to have blown upon, perhaps." 

1 don’t want — No, 1 won’t show you this packet; there’s an 
awful rare stamp on it. Awful, 1 couldn’t buy it for money -not 
for pounds. Castor-oil Cowan hasn’t a stamp in his book like it.’’ 


154 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Yoirre a bad boy.” 

“ 1 don’t care. I’m off. I’ll see your picture next time.” 

” JSow, Elspeth, you’ll be tired and done out and hungry, for L 
believe you’ve walked every inch of the road. Ah! Ami rights 
lassie?” 

She was right; Elspeth had walked all the way, and now she 
iound Mrs. Harper’s inn was full, and only by Haney moving out 
of her own bedroom to occupy an old sofa, could she have accom- 
modation. Mrs. Harper did not say so, but that was the case, and 
Elspeth was shown into Haney’s room as if she were a princess, 
and the blind was drawn for her, and the looking-glass adjusted,, 
and the curtains tied, and the fire poked, and the cat chased from 
beneath the bed, and the terrier sent alter the cat. 

” How, Haney, am 1 not inconveniencing you?” 

“ You inconvenience me, lassie! ‘You, Elspeth Gun! Heverl 
ever in this world. I’ll away and prepare a meal for you.” 

Haney went out with a profound sigh, and left Elspeth to her- 
self. The girl was tired, but excitement kepi her up. She had 
never come into town alone. She had alwa5^s been accompanied 
by her father. On this occasion she had taken the coble from 
Dirlot, and floated down the Rudder ten miles, and padlocked it at 
a place where her father wculd recover it the day after, and row 
home in it. Her excitement, however, was not wholly due to the 
walk of ten miles after she got out of the coble, nor to the unwonted 
circumstance of coming into town alone and seeing the large life 
of the Ruddersdale world open out before her. She sat bathing 
her feet in Haney’s room, and wondering how she should execute 
her mission. Her father and mother had allowed her to come te 
Ruddersdale because she was tired of Cnoc Dhu, because she was 
beginning to look wearv and wakeful and ill; and though the lat- 
ter did not like her resolution to go, she did not interfere. All she 
advised her was, “ Keep out of Mr. Leslie’s way. Don’t let him 
see you; and if Haney makes no fuss about your staying with her, 
father will come for you in a short time.” How that she had come 
to Haney’s she was puzzled. What could she do? She had met 
the man on the bridge whom she thought she would be able to as- 
sist. He had talked to her, and, as he had said, would talk tc her 
again in the evening, it she were not too fatigued by her journey. 
It was all very difficult to her. To nave come down to Ruddersdale 
to help him to find his sweetheart, to be met by him at the bridge, 
and not to Know whether Haney could really give her any’ assist- 
ance in her voluntary search— all difficult. Besides, what had she 


CEADLE A^TD SPADE. 


155 


to do vvilli this sweetheart of his? She did not put it so broadly to 
herself as that, but at the bottom of her heart the thought was 
present that l^ixon’s sweetheart had no right to send him out to 
search for clews to her origin. Had she loved him, Elspeth thought, 
deeply and sincerely, she would have married him without caring 
about who she was and where she came from. 

She rose wearily and arranged her hair; or rather she slightly 
altered its golden disarrangement; she took out the medal of gold 
and wore it openly on her bosom; she looked close into her eyes at 
the glass, and saw That there was no fatigue in them; they were 
bright and clear and fit to look anybody in the face. But her mis- 
sion? She could not confront it without drawing back and sigh" 
ing. To help him. lo his sweetheart? Yes, that was what she had 
traveled down for. To bring an unknown girl in the south to 
him and to marry them. It was nothing short cf that. After it 
was all over she would go back to Cnoc Dhu, back to his preci- 
pices, and his purple nooks, and his crying of the wild-fowl, and 
abide there till she died. Well, was it not a common lot among 
shepherd girls? Were there not others besides herself, here, there, 
and everywhere, at intervals of many miles, among the shielingS; 
W’ho locked forward to nothing but shifting from one to another 
abode of the same kind? Why should she. Elspeth Gun, be differ- 
ent? She could not tell why, but she did not regard with a thrill 
of anticipation the dream of a young shepherd, plaid, on shoulder, 
coming over their braes and carrying her off to his lonely shieling 
deeper among the mountains. It seemed to her that she had almost 
seen enough of the sheep and the rams, and the runnrng waters, 
and the walks, and the biros. She could not tell why, but, now 
she was in town, she thought so. Now that she was about to meet 
Nixon again she was sure she could never marry a shepherd, never 
go deeper into the mountains, and rear chickens and children far 
from the madding crowd. When Nancy came for her to eat some- 
thing, she realJy did not know w hat she had come to Ruddersdale 
lor. She rose, and Nancy, looking at her, said: 

“Lassie, lassie! you grow bonnier every time 1 see you— your 
ecn clearer, your figure tighter, your hair shinier. Y’ou’re throwm 
away among the mountains.” 

“ Nancy, I’m tired of the mountains. 1 wish you would take 
me in and let me help you at your work. Maybe a fine skipper- 
chap from the Baltic w^ould w’ant to marry me some afternoon.” 

“ May be he would, lassie. And niaV be I would set my face 
against him. And may be Oliver would come down with his crook 


156 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


and say, It you have the audacity to suppose my daughter would 
many you, you must have a good conceit o’ yourselt. And may te 
theie would be a noise in the house o’ Gun.” 

‘‘ Well, Nancy, it’s in the way o’ Guns to make noises. There 
would be nothing strange about that,” 

” I’ll let you see a finer man than any o’ the Baltic skippers, a 
groat lawyer-man out o’ the south, come up here about the gold, 
he says. Mr. Nixon I’ll introduce to you. Whisht! that’s him 
upon the stairs.” 

” But 1 know him already, Nancy.” 

“Ay?” 

” Yes; I’ve met him at Loch Dirlot and on the bridge to-night; 
] shook hands with him, and, Nanev, are you sure he only came 
here about the gold?” 

•‘There’s gold and gold, lassie,” said Nancy, glancing at the 
gill’s hair and smiling, and going to the door to say, ‘‘ Mr. Nixon, 
1 have a visitor here, and she’ll dine with you at the same table in 
Mr. Laggan’s room, it you have no objection. It’s Miss Gun from 
the mountains.” 

Yes, 1 have met her already,” said Nixon, descending to the 
toot of the staiis, and standing aside till Nancy and Elspeth passed 
to Laggan’s room. 

Tiiey all dined together, and Nancy said that if Elspeth were not 
too tiled, she ought to go out and see the town — it would do her 
good, and Mr. Nixon knew it better than anybody. 

‘ Town,” said Nixen, when Elspeth, with her cloak on, came 
to him, standing, pipe in mouth, at the door of the inn. ” Town! 
Why it consists of a pier, of a church, of a hotel, an inn, one 
street, a couple of thatched rows; and that’s an end of it. 1 don’t 
include the beach and the church-yard, because they are there at 
any rate. They would be there, town or no town. 1 think all 1 
have to show you is the sea, and you could ffet that at the edge of 
any moor twenty miles up, twenty miles down, though, to be sure, 
not inland.” 

‘‘ It’s always a great excitement to me to hear it and to see it.” 

” To-night there isn’t mimh to see, for the moon is gone and the 
stars are sparse, and it’s dark and slippery all the way down. 1 
knew every foot of it, however, if you would care to go, 1 know 
a seat in a corner where we could sit and converse, and when you 
are tired you will tell me, and then we will return.” 

Elspeth sighed, and wound her cloak about her, and went up- 
stairs. 


CRADLE SPADE. 


157 


jSixon was standing at the door when she came down. 

Tiiere was no reason why he should have looked surprised. He 
expected her. She had said she would come. 

But Nancy was not theie, and as he looked at the girl he felt 
thai he was being honored. 

“Down,” he said, “right down to the end of the square, and 
there is the sea and the pier to sit on and look out at.” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

Down they went, and on the outermost edge of it, past the rock- 
ing and creaking of the crowded smacks and boats in the harbor, 
they went to the pier-end and sat down--Elspeth a little way off, 
Nixon not anxious to come any closer to her. 

“ It’s a change from the burn and the mountains,” said Elspetb, 
shivering a little, and gathering her cloak about her as tight as it 
would fold. 

“ You mean the chill air?” 

“ No; the heaving and rising, and coming in and departing, 
without anything happening but splash and moan, splash, break, 
and moan.” 

“ You mean the sea?” 

“ Y’es; it's a perpetual wonder to me. 1 never see it but 1 won- 
der at it.” 

Nixon drew nearer to her. She did not retire from him. She sat 
and, dark as it was, he thought he saw her clasp her hands. 

“ Deal, dear!” she ejaculated. 

“ What is it?” 

“ How can 1 tell? But sitting here and looking out on it, it al- 
most makes me cry.” 

“ You shouldn’t. That’s weakness. When you showed me 
your big Cnoc Dhii you didn’t find me cry, did. you?” 

“No, no; but this wail, wail and wash, and tumble and come 
back again, and break and splash and go and come, and waves 
high and waves low, and the three or four stars up above and you 
and me here— oh, Mr. Nixon! 1 don’t know what you feel, but 
to me it’s past bearing. Yes, past bearing.” 

Nixon said nothing, but at the end of the next movement to right 
and left they were elbow to elbow. 

“ It’s the mystery and the something be.yond all perpetually hint- 
ing that there is a going on, a flying away”, a being, a doing, a 
knowing, a remembeiing, a never stopping of this as we are.” 

Elspeth sat closer to him. 

“ it’s immortality,” he said. 


158 


CRADLE AE’D SPADE. 


Elspeth leaned right up against him. 

“ 1 think you must be cold,” he said. 

1 ^ 0 , no; not at all.” 

Tlien, we can look out together.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you will tell me this long tale— Oh, my!” 

A considerable wave broke over the end of the pier and sent its 
spiay across their knees. They rose and left, Elspeth shaking her 
gown, and complaining that Cnoc Dhu would not have treated 
her 83. 

‘‘Y‘e3,”said ISlixon, ‘‘1 am convinced of it. My poor Mina 
was lost here and found here; and who is she? Do 1 very much 
care? No; not for the mere discovery of who she ia and who a 
she belongs to.” 

Elspeth said she thought he ought to care; she would help him 
to care; she would, as an old inhabitant, give him all the advice 
that she could discover from others or originate from her own mind. 

‘‘ That’s almost love,” said Nixon, lending her his arm. 

Ai:d Elspeth took it. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A SHORT CHAPTER. 

” MmA,” said the sheriff after the post had arrived from Rud 
dersdale one day, ‘‘ you are building a house on quicksand. 1 al- 
ways warned you against Mrs. Gibson. 1 told you she was not a 
woman to cultivate. 1 hinted that she would be a false friend. 1 
have heard from Ruddersdale.” 

“ Yes, papa, dear?” said Mina, hoping the sheriff had heard from 
Joseph. 

” Y"es, Mina,” said the sheriff, laughing, ‘‘ you want to hear the 
latest?” 

” The most authentic news from the fields?” 

” Well, the latest?” 

” Yes, certainly.” 

” Joseph Nixon is Sir Thomas Dunbeath.” 

” Papa, dear!” 

‘‘You are disinherited, my dear.” 

“Joseph Nixon is — ” 

“ Y'es.” 

“ Has Frank been investigating?” 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


159 


“ Not he. Ot, no. Frank is a very good fellow, but he doesn’t 
carry a brief for Joseph.” 

” What am 1 to think?” 

“ What you please, my dear, but there is an unknown hand send- 
ing me a portion ot a strip— an important portion, an essential part 
ot two or three other parts, which throws a world of light upon the 
rest, and it bears upon its surface— -not wholly, but almost— Joseph 
Nixon.” 

‘‘ Poor Joe!” said Mina. 

” All alone,” said the sheriff. 

‘‘He is the heir, you mean?” 

‘* 1 make no statements; but he is more so than any other body,, 
if it isn’t a case of Bill Stumps, his mark. This bit of a deed has 
been sent on, evidently by a female hand unaccustomed to address- 
ing envelopes. Here it is, however. And if there is an heir to 
claim it, it is Joseph now. Ha! ha! ha!” 

‘‘ You are very merry, papa, dear!” 

‘‘ Not merry, Mina; only cynical.” 

” There is no reason why you should laugh.” 

” Are you disappointed?” 

“No.” 

‘‘I am laughing for the pleasure of having my own Mina to 
myself.” 

‘‘Strips of deeds could have made no difference--none what- 
ever.” 

‘‘ Oh, couldn’t they? Wait till you are my age, and you will 
find that strips of deeds are of more importance than Grecian 
beauty or Norman blood.” 

‘‘ It seems as if you w’ere happy that 1 were sent back to the in- 
finite, and that instead ot beaching my skiff and walking ashore 
on familiar ground, 1 go among the breakers.” 

‘‘ The infinite! Y'ou have been talking metaphysics with Usher. 
He is great upon the wrong end of the. telescope and what w’e do 
not see at it.” 

‘‘ He very nearly saw me and my father and my father's father 
at it.” 

‘‘Thank heaven! Not quite— only very nearly, look at this 
communication yourself.” 

‘‘ A tag. An unintelligible piece ot sheep-skin.” 

‘‘ As all the lags are, wiiich are all the evidence. Mina, this mys- 
teiy will never be solved. Bid me a cordial good morning. 1 air> 


160 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


going into town, and will be glad to contradict the rumor that you 
are Mies Dunbeatli.” 

“ Don’t, papa, be too hasty.” 

" 1 always held the idea ot it.” 

““ Ah, me! Well-a-day, as the song-books say.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

UNDER THE AURORA. 

Leslie came to the conclusion, alter Usher’s visit, that it was 
high time to commence the praetical work ot mining. He was led 
to that belief partly by the anxiety of Usher to probe the old story 
of Mina Durie, partly by the urgency with which Porteous kept 
telling him he ought to begin to do something among his mount- 
ains, if he wished the world seiiously to believe in his gold. -He 
had Russell up the evening after Usher went south, and had a long 
talk with him. He had had many such. This is the gist of it. 

Russell, there’s a ridiculous skepticism in the south about the 
yellow treasure. They are so aemoralized with reading atheistical 
books and listening to the mouthing of the British Association, that 
they wcn’t believ#’ their own eyes, 1 have no patience with these 
theoretical fellows who stand up in a meeting of theoretical fellows, 
and demonstrate from a map or a bit of clay or something in a bot- 
tle that the state, of the country is such and such. Gold we have 
had, whether they can square it to their demonstration ci not, and 
1 don’t care a snap cf my thumb for geology. 1 had a man from 
the Parliament House here the ether night— last night indeed— 
and he told me with his own eyes that he saw in a cabinet of Lord 
Ilopetoun’s a nugget of gold weighing nearly two ounces, found 
among the Leadhills, just as my g(-]d was brought to me first from 
Cnoc Dim. The same gentleman had it from the lord advocate 
that in Breadalbane there was found a nugget weighing rather over 
two ounces, which is still to be seen as a curiosity. As a curiosity! 
That’s where they altogether fail. It’s like the Duke of Welling- 
ton with his victories. He made a victory; then he sat down ana 
wrote his dispatches, without following the victory up. He be- 
lieved in battles, and penned on the exterminating details posterior 
to the battle. They find a nugget, and tliey think it s the begin- 
ning and the end of the discovery, instead of looking for more 
But that’s not my way. It might, have been Sir Thomas Dun- 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


161 . 


beath’s. It’s not mine. It’s my belief, where one nugget is there 
is more, and the advantage must be followed up at ail reasonable 
cost.” 

“ 1 give you my hand; you’re right, sir.” 

‘‘Yes, I’m right.” 

You are. And now what’s the cost, d’ye suppose, cf begin- 
ning the enterprise? No. Leave the cost to me. Are you san- 
guine, man?” 

” To be sure, I’m sanguine. You know my experience. You 
know the ground I’ve been over. Australia’s as familiar to me as 
the Rudder. 1 know every gully and claim— or did two or three 
years ago.” 

” Sc you have said before.” 

” Yes, every gully worth knowing; and what 1 say now is, many 
the rich claim was walked over, year out and year in, by people 
grazing their cattle, who mighi have had the value of all they 
owned, grass, cattle, and crops by putting a hammer into the sur- 
face quartz, or a basin into the water-holes dug by the hoofs of the 
horses. But they knew no better. AVe want an eye to tell a gold 
country from any other country. And my belief is that this is a 
gold country, if it’s only worked to advantage. Gold! why it 
isn’t only gold we gel. I’ve got silver on the same claim. I’ve 
seen coal taken out of it, too; I’ve handled sapphires and dia- 
monds all brought out of the same hole by the same machinery.” 

” None of the long-bow, now. You’re jawing me.” 

‘‘ Truth is stranger than fiction.” 

” I’m not looking for sapphires and diamonds. I’ll give you 
leave to pocket any you may happen to find. Y^ou can take them 
as a commission for your other tabors.” 

”1 don’t say we'll find them here. 1 don’t look to them as a 
portion of my pay.” 

” Very well. Y'ou’re ready to set to work?” 

” Ready to do, sir, what 1 can with the appliances we have. 
What are they? A few cradles and borers. We want some steam- 
power, some horse -puddling machines; we may need a sluice or 
two and a race or two— all that costs money.” 

” Very good. You leave the cost to me, and think of the work.” 

” What 1 say is, that there’s various kinds of raining— the cheap 
kind and the dear kind.” 

” I’ve no objections to you being economical.” 

'* Cheap mining is suiface mining. With the tools we have, it's 
only surface mining we can undertake. Until you can afford to 


162 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


set down an eight-hcrse steam puddling machine we can't sink 
deep, and we can’t lift the water.” 

” It must be cheap raining tc start with.” 

‘‘ Yes, but more might be put into it than our tools cost. You 
might value the whole lot for a few pounds. It won’t take much 
to start with, to fit up a four-foot water-wheel, working a pump. 
Y’ou see I’m looking to beginning on the water-beds at the first lise 
of the hills north of Ruddersdale— some of the narrow valleys- 
there seem to me good for a lot; full of pct-holes and rctten gran- 
ite. Well, with a four-foot water-wheel, with a head-race and 
sluice-boxes to turn it, and a tail-race to run the water away, we 
may expect to find what gold there is in the washing. But that’s 
cheap mining— cheap mining, sir, and hard to do without steam- 
power. But mining and sluicing will do to start with. When it 
comes to deep sinking, then it’s a very different matter. 1 hope 
we may go as far down as that. But that’ll keen. It’ll take 
thousands upon thousands of pounds to get down through hall a 
score of drifts till you get to the gold at the bottom. A long job,, 
sir; deep sinKing wants money, and no mistake. But at first a 
hammer and a mortar, a spade and a cradle can open the bail.” 

” Y’ou ’re keen upon steam.” 

“Y'es.” 

‘‘■Very well, I’m negotiating with a ship-engineer w^'hc has 
worked what he calls ‘ a dolly.' ” 

‘‘ Y’’es, that’s what we want — ‘ a dolly ’ to begin with, a stamp- 
ing machine with a grating to follow, to crush the quartz and save 
the gold. A little steam will do it; but it keeps up the courage to 
hear the puft, puff, puff, puff, and to come along from the dead- 
work to cee the little handful of treasures shining in the blanket. 
It does.” 

” Russell, 1 have perfect confidence in you, and you will call your 
men together and go to the first claim you have selected.” 

” It’s between this, the head ct the Cranberry burn, and Dun- 
beath House.” 

‘‘Just so.” 

‘‘ It’s half a dozen miles from a shieling.” 

‘‘ So much the better.” 

‘‘ We can’t sleep in the open air; and unless you want your 
miners to be skinning the sheep and sleeping in the skins, you’ll 
best have canvas over their heads.” 

‘‘Y^es, canvas to be sure. There’s a schooner ashore at the 
Stacks, and all her canvas is at your service, every stitch of it.” 


CEADLE AisD SPADE. 


163 


That’ll do, sir.” 

” V’ery well; that’ll do. Good-night.” 

***** * * 

Ruddersdale was halt-glad, half-soriy the afternoon the miners 
set out for their valley. A little town, like a big one, soon gets 
used to wickedness which pa3’s its wa}^ Vice which has no pur&t- 
striniis is intolerable anywhere; but so long as it has a shilling or 
two in its pocket it is never so hideous. The mail-coach was stand- 
ing in the square when the crowd of fifty, with their apparatus for 
burrowing all about them, gathered ready to depart. The coach 
was full outside and in with gentlemen of the “road.” There 
was a good deal of chaff going. 

“ Change a sovereign, chum?” said a rubicund commercial from 
the box-seat to Russell, who was bustling about in front of the 
Duke’s Arms. 

“ D’ye think the Hielands o’ Scotland are the Bushes o’ Austra- 
lia?” roared down a muffled veteran, who had traveled that dis- 
trict for a generation in the interest of ribbons and prints, and who 
regarded the recent rumor as an invention uf the enemy. 

” I’ll give you a ca’ up for snuff and tobacco,” shouted another. 

” A penny whistle for your find.” 

” Good luck.” 

” Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” 

Such were the greetings from heads protruding from the coach 
window and faces locking down from aloft as Mr. Laggan gave 
the sign to start, with his horn at his lips, waving one arm as a 
general sign of pacffication to e/ery one around. 

Mr. Laggau was a perambulatory Paul, who believed in being 
1 all things to all men, except when his toes were deliberately 
trampled upon; he then considered it his biblical and physical duty 
to kick. 

The coach rolled away, and Russell stood fcr a moment at the 
Duke’s Arms, from which resentment had lately driven them. 

Leslie was standing at the door looking very jovial and hopeful 
and red in the face. 

Faces were observable at every window wihin easy reach of the 
space where the men were gathered. 

The landlord was behind Leslie, not sure whether he ought to 
scowl at miners who had gone off in a huff to JMancy’s, or whether 
he should wear a propitiatory look. 

‘‘ Bring out five quarts,” said Leslie suddenly, feeling that the 


164 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


eyes of the town were upon him, and that he was in duty bound 
to do something. 

“ Of what, sir?” 

” Of good old whisky.” 

” Lay them on a tray oh the table,” said the landlord to a man 
with a towel on his arm, ” in the square. They like to dram in 
public.” 

He brought out a table. 

Leslie swelling with original bulk of flesh, pride, and importance^ 
took his place behind it, with a gigantic corkscrew, and drew the 
five bottles one after another. 

“ Mr. Lussell, gentlemen,” he said, clearing his throat, ” you’ve 
got your work cut out for you. You’ve got to do what hasn’t 
been done in Scotland, as I am assured by a legal friend of high 
standing, since the sixteenth century. You’ve got to find gold. 
VVe get a little of it in Ruddersdale every year from over there ” 
(pointing to the sea and the fishing-banks in the distance), ‘‘but 
it’s rough work and dangerous. This is a new iadustiy, rough 
enough no doubt, but not dangerous; and you all come to it with 
an old knowledge confiimed from practice in Australia and Ameri- 
ca. I’m bent upon showing them in the south that where one or 
two nuggets have been found, and a few bandfuls of dust washed, 
there is more — a good deal more-enough to reward the labor and 
the pains of labor; enough to repay capital tor its expenditure and 
risks, enough to remunerate us all round— you and me, and 
others at a distance as deeply interested. Out you go, then, to the 
side of our Cnocs, and riddle, and wash, and grind, and dig, and 
I’ll be round every Saturday afternoon with your wages. A word 
about ycur behavior; no poaching of fish, flesh, or fowl; no dodg- 
rng the revenue with illicit stills, no stealing away to the Duke of 
Burrows’ place to court the forester’s lasses. Be on your good 
behavior, and you’ll have your competent wages, and 1 live in hope 
of seeing Ruddersdale extend a mile up and a mile down this sea 
coast, with the richest industry in the world going on in it. Here’s 
to ye all!” 

He poured himself out a bumper and drained it in the face of the 
crowd. There was a thin little cheer, then man after man ap- 
proached and helped himself, sighed, wiped his mouth, and retired. 
In half an hour the square was empty. Three hours later the 
crowd, heavy enough laden, had reached the dell selected by Rus- 
sell for their earlier operations and had thrown down their baggage. 


CEADLE AXD SPADE. 


165 


Opinions diflered about it. A.rmstronff consideied that he had seen 
much better giound further inland. 

“ Nearer the Duke o’ Burrows’ place, you mean, where the smell 
o’ meal comts out to your nostrils.” 

” No; and as for that, 1 see enough o' fleece to the rear of us to 
lejiale all your nostrils, and 1 say — under correction, mind you, for 
I’m aware, "Russell, that you're chief burrower here — 1 say% under 
correction, that thft first duty we owe to each other is to catch a 
couple o’ lambs and roast ’em. There’s more there by a long chalk 
than they want either to keep or send away, and I’m for doing a 
little poaching, since we’re obliged to give up our independence 
and take his ^'ages.’' 

“ So am I,” said a man. untwisting a coil of flies and proceeding 
to attach them to an otter. 

” And as there’s no gauger here I’m going for a private still of 
my own.” 

” Right you are.” 

”] don’t,” said Russell, ‘‘interfere with play. I’ll eat what’s 
laid down to me, and ask no questions; though I’ll not take a part 
in catching a lamb, or killing a salmon, or running a still. But 
I’m not bound to know about them.” 

‘‘ Right you are.” 

‘‘ But the first thing we’ve got to do, lads, is to spread our can- 
vas. There’s canvas for ten tents— five men in each— and the 
sooner they’re up the better, for 1 see the aurora coming dowm from 
the north.” 

‘‘Tents up,” said Armstrong, disappearing with a knife, W’hile 
his friend with the w’ooden otter disappeared to the Cranberry burn. 
There was a great bustling and shouting, but in a short time the 
sails were bent to the poles, and comfortable cover was had on vari 
ous little plateaus overhanging a stream. It was a pleasant night, 
chilled a little with the slightest breath of air from the noith; but 
the miners were w^armed with exertion and anticipation, and wiien 
Armstrong, with his arms bare and red, came in to where a fire had 
been kindled, with a lamb killed and skinned, lliere was a shout of 
hungry exultation. It was renewed and repeated when Pringle, 
the man with the otter, brought a salmon to the same place. 

” Lads, we’re likely to be at heck-tmd-manger here.” 

'* Sitting under the aurora, feeling the smell of salmon and lamb, 
isn’t Imlf a bad thing.” 


166 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


CHAPTER XXXll. 

INSINUATION. 

Usher came back to Eciinbur^;b without seeing Xixon to speak 
with. He had avoided him on purpose, because ot the inccnven- 
ience he felt it would be to renew the phrases of cordiality which 
had come to his lips when he bade him good-bye at the station the 
morning he started for the North. Besides, he thought he was in- 
dignant with Nixon. He thought, having noticed him bending to- 
ward a girl with an attractive smile on her face, that he was un- 
faithful and false to Mina Durie. It was insufferable, and by some 
method or another he must let Mina know that the briefless giant, 
who frofessed to be searching tor evidence of her title to the estates, 
was occupying his time in making love to another girl of a very 
different sort. 

In reality, perhaps, the true slate of feeling was that Frank Usher 
was highly pleased to see that Joseph Nixcn cared to occupy his 
thoughts with another gill. But there are some natures which, to 
maintain their self esteem, must regard incidents likely to bring 
good to themselves at their neighbors’ expense as nothing but neigh- 
bois’ depravity. That was how he looked at it. He would not 
admit to himself that it might be a very good thing tor him it Jo- 
seph’s attentions were really turned to this shepherd’s daughter 
among the mountains. 

He grounded his indignation at Joseph upon the virtuous feeling 
that Mina had, practically, been deserted. He did not care to go out 
to Durie Den immediately on his return to town. 

He had gone to Ruddersdale, in the first instance, to hear about 
the mines, and to report to Porteous, as he knew' that Sheriff Durie 
cared not a brass farthing for mines and mining. The flrst morn- 
ing after his return, however, he thought he would go up to Old 
Grayfriars’ and see the sheriff and IMina in their pew. They gen- 
erally drove in to Dr. Truth’s w'hcn the weather w'as fine, and Usher 
thought he would abandon the ministrations ot the great pan-Pres- 
byterian for one day, and take a seat in the heretic’s church— the 
heretic who wrote his prayers and read them, instead of ptumbllng 
through extempore abysses ot meaningless aspiration, and who 
thought sacred song ought to have the sw'eetness of skill bestow'ed 
upon It, and the backing of a great organ. The church was pretty 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


167 


full that afternoon. Usher, to his annoyance, was compelled to 
wait behind a red curtain till the first psalm was sung; seeing the 
silver-headed clergyman at his platform, standing, thin, cold, aris- 
tocratic, till the strangers had crammed the pews and he was at 
liberty to commence without interruption. Usher walked well for- 
ward among the aisles, and at last got a corner to himself, one leg 
inside, another leg outside the pew. His attention was diverted 
for a time by the bald head of the editor of the “ Caledonian,'’ 
with its fringe of black hair, and the occasional side of his red face, 
which seemed industriously occupied in smothering inopportune 
witticisms which were perversely occurring to him. From him it 
glanced off to the restless body of a comedian come to fulfill a fort- 
night’s engagement in town, and who did not seem quite certain 
which of a couple of score of characters he was for the nonce. Then 
he saw that he had sat down right behind Mina and the slicriff, and 
that for the remainder of the service he could study the half-face 
of jNixon’s sweetheart to his heart’s content. In spite of the fact, 
therefore, that he had a. half -digested brief in his mind, the lustrous 
eyes of the comedian to watch, and the comic nose of the editor, 
he devoted his attention wholly to Mina’s back hair. Hr. Truth 
was keen, polished, elegant, sometimes almost earnest in his dis- 
course; yet Usher was conscious of nothing but the raven gloss be- 
neath Mina’s hat. She seemed to know there was somebody be- 
hind her watching her stealthily, for she revealed her sense of the 
presence by one or two movements as of looking round. But she 
never absolutely looked, and Usher counted how many motions of 
her bosom there were in the minute, and wondered if ever a palpi- 
tation would be bestowed upon himself; noted the whiteness of her 
neck and the perfection of the hand which held a prayei-book, and 
saw it steal to the sherifi's knee when the sheriff dozed, and press 
it so lightly that he w’as able to weaken artistically, without sudden 
starting, as if he had never been asleep at all. Then by and by the 
frosty voice came to the “ starry sky above and the moral law wdth- 
in,” and the sermon was ended, and presently Usher was leaning 
over the pew, shaking hands with his friends. 

They went out together in a little party of three, and on their 
way to the stables where the sheriff had his carriage, they were 
overtaken by a shower of rain. 

“ Come down and take pot-luck with me,” said Usher, instantly 
hailing a cab. “ This looks as if it would last for some hours.” 

“Ah, yes,” said the sheriff, jumping in aud pulling Mina after 
him. ‘‘ I’ll tell you what. Go round by Crcall’s, and drop me 


1G8 


CRADLE AlsD SPADE. 


there, i have a call to make in the neighborhood at any rate. 1 
•will be over in three quarters of an hour. It’s setting in for a vio- 
lent thunderstorm. VThat hashes of lightning, to be surel Truth 
was very ethical this afternoon. But what eood taste!” 

Usher and Mina drove on alone after they had dropped the sher- 
iff, and the former told his housekeeper that they were to take pot- 
luck with him. Then Mina and he went into his library. 

” How hard you must work!” 

” Yes— -1 like it. But these don’t all mean retainers, though 1 
must know them all as if they were. At my stage one has to do a 
great deal for the love of it.” 

” And for what it will bring afterward.” 

” Y'es. 1 dare say there’s something of that in it.” 

Mina sighed. She was looking at his mantel-shelf, and she saw 
the broken foot of a golf-club; it reminded her of ISixon. She took 
it up, and said so. 

“Yes, it is Nison’s. It’s part of the set he bestowed upon me 
before he took to the mountains.” 

Mina sighed again, and looked so frail that Usher offered her a 
chair. But she stood leaning on the mantel- shelf, with the foot of 
the club in her hand. 

” Tell me,” she said, ‘‘if it is possible that two such friends as 
you and he have been, can have remained all this time apart with- 
out exchanging a single word?” 

‘‘ Let me answer you by putting another question.. Have you 
not heard from him yourself?” 

“No.” 

‘‘ No, also.” 

‘‘ It seems strange to me that you should not have heard.’ 

” Why so?’ 

” For many reasons.” 

“But I haven’t heard.” 

“ Was he not, then, so much of a friend as 1 used to suppose?” 

“ Do you know what a rival-friend is? ’ 

“No.” 

“ Shall 1 (ell you?” 

’* Dc by all means.” 

“ Well, a rival-friend is one who may have a share of one’s affec- 
tior and who yet may be a lion in the path, who stands growling 
in front of a much-desired object.” 

She looked at him curiously, leaned off his mantelfshelt, clasped 
her hands as she sat down in his own chair. 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


1G9 


“A lival-friend is an enemy in disguise, who does not mean to 
be an enemy, and whom one may not strike, because, though he 
is a rival, he is a friend." 

"Riddles, Mi. Ushei." 

"Truths, Miss Durie.” 

" A rival can never be a friend. A friend can never be a lival.’’ 

" In a world arranged by Miss Durie— -perhaps 1 should say Lady 
Dunbeath; don’t start and look surprised— in a world arranged by 
you, no friend would be a rival, and all rivals w^ould be enemies 
knowing how to take each other. As it is, in a world arranged by 
Dr. Truth’s starry sky above and the moral law within ” (it was 
the only bit of the sermcn he had heard), theie are such things as 
rival-friends, whose poniard is more fatal than the murderer’s poi- 
son, than the assassin’s pistol.” 

"Riddles, Mi. Usher. If poor Joseph had been snatching your 
briefs from you 1 should have understood. If he had been putting 
his arms within the arms of 3 ’^our leading clients, and cutting you 
out in Parliament House, 1 should have known. Rut, alas! he is 
no advocate. Poor fellow! he is in the mountains. So you tell 
mo. 1 know nothing of him otherwise." 

Usher thought contemptuously of Nixon’s standing between him 
and briefs. Did she know that he was the lion in the path where 
she, Mina, was concerned, and nothing moie formidable than that? 
As for briefs, only the heads of the profession stood in his way and 
these must die or go aloft to the bench in time. He hastened to 
hint to her there was no rivalry for him. 

" VYhere then?" 

" In love." 

She rose and bending her head at his library door, she said — 

" 1 hear papa coming. He has not been so long as he expected." 

" No, it’s only my little scullion retuining from chinch.” 

Mina sat down again, and seemed to relapse into a dream of Jo- 
seph and the mountains. 

" But you were asking me," he resumed, " if 1 never heard from 
Nixon. 1 have done better. 1 have seen him. 1 saw him last 
week.” 

"Joseph?" 

" Yes; the other day." 

" Here?" 

" No, not in this house." 

" In Edinburgh?" 

"No." 


/ 


170 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Where, theu?” 

“ At Ruddersdale.” 

You have been north?” 

" Yes.” 

” All, rival-triend! You are more ot a friend than a rival. You 
went to see him, to speak with him. How is he? Is he well? Is 
he hopeful? Did he send me a message?” 

‘‘ He l3 well. Oh, yes. 1 hare known him come back to Edin- 
burgh after all sorts of muscular excursions in brilliant brown 
health. But 1 never saw him look so well as on this occasion. He 
is the picture of what a strong man ought to be— no cares about 
him, easy, sauntering, and — and — ” 

Mina looked disappointed and vexed. She hoped, to say the 
least of it, that her hero might have lost color, that he would be 
rather thinner than he w'as, that he would bear the marks ot mis- 
ery on his brow, perhaps some obvious gray hairs. 

” He is finding gold, then?” 

” As to that, 1 couldn’t say. There’s no doubt, however, about 
there being plenty to find.” 

“ Ycu are keeping me in suspense,” she said, rising and putting 
her hand upon his arm. ” Tell me what he said. Give me his 
message before the sheriff comes. Let me know, for I have pledged 
myself not to write to him. He has given his word of honor not to 
write to me.” 

” He has said he is your lover?” • 

“Yes; my— my— ” She sat down again, and drew her hand 
across her eyes and sighed. 

“ What a pledge to take!” he murmured. “ 1 should have 
broken it. 1 should have lied. 1 should have lied over and over 
again, were 1 he; and written— ay, and come and seen, and assured 
myself.” 

He was vehement. Mina took her hand from his hand and 
looked up at him with an air of wender as he stood over her. She 
was aware that he was not generalizing. She saw that he was 
thinking cf her alone at that moment. She wished the sheriS 
would come in. This earnestness was embarrassing. 

‘‘ But you forget that you have not told me. You have said you 
have seen him, and yet you have no words from his lips?” 

” No ” 

” Not a single word?’’ 

‘ No,’’ said Lsher, in a sepulchral voice, putting his hands in 
his pockets, and walking up and down his room. ‘‘No, riot a 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


in 


single word ; 1 exchanged no words with him. Joseph, my friend, is 
so cnly on one condition, that he is, and remains the Joseph that 1 
believe him to be— that he is simple, true, pure. And he is changed. 
He is changed! He is not the same man. I did not speak to him. 
Nor would youN 

“ Frank Usher,” said Mina, rising and confronting him, erect, 
and her eyes flashing. ‘‘ What hare you to tell me of my lo— of 
Jos— of Mr. JSfixou?” 

” Why should 1 be the bringer of bad news to you? Is it not 
enough that I have seen with my own eyes, and that 1 repudiate 
his friendship for the future? I have seen him.” 

” You have seen him?” 

” Yes.” 

” Do not keep me in suspense.” 

‘‘ And you will not blame me for speaking the truth?” 

‘‘ Speak it. Speak it.” 

” 1 have seen him lean over another woman, and make love to 
her. Huddersdale is full of it. They talk of him and of her. 
Their names are coupled together by the gossips. But 1 saw— 1 
saw with my own eyes, Joseph Kixon make love to her. He is 
not faithful. He forgets. He turns his back upon his vow. He 
is fickle as water. There is no consistency in him, or Burely, 
surely, Mina, he could not have forgotten you in so many weeks.” 

” And who is this woman you have seen, that the gossips talk 
about, that he has become tickle as water for, that he has aban- 
doned his vows for — who is she?” 

” A poor shepherd’s daughter.” 

Mina grasped the edge of the mantel shelf, smiled, laughed, 
shrieked. As the sheriff opened Usher’s library door, he was just 
in time to see her tumble over, breathless, apparently dead, upon 
the rug. 


CHAPTER XXXlll. 

PLANS OF TRAVEL. 

The sheriff gathered his ward up in his arms from Usher’s ruar, 
called out for cold water, felt in her pocket for a smelling-bottle, 
applied it, and brought her round. 

” 3Iina,” he said, ‘‘ how is this? You have never been like this 
in my experience of you. You are seriously ill, my pet.” 

Lsher stood by, conscience-stricken. He wished he had not 


172 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


spoken so strongly to her. He regrett«3cl that he had made any al- 
lusion to Joseph at all, and was sorry that he should have allowed 
himself tc plead his own cause by depreciating his rival. Did he 
need to do so? Was he not the stronger man? Was there not a 
want of self-respect in supposing that, in ihe long run, he could not 
put himself into the center of her heart to the exclusion of Joseph? 
He flattered himself there, was, as he saw the girl sit down, agitated, 
pale, and speechless. By and by she recovered the use of her 
tongue, hewever. She looked up and said — 

“ 1 telt it coming on in church. It is the electricity in the air. 
K is the warmth and closeness which has done it. 1 shall be better 
immediately. Indeed, 1 am better now. See, there is a flash of 
lightninff. My nerves somehow seem to have felt it by a kind of 
prevision. Please not to look at me or think of me, either of you. 
Go on with your conversation. I shall ask your housekeeper to 
show me to a room, Mr. Usher.” 

She tottered as she left the room, but would accept no support 
from either of the men. Trie sheriff stood at the table, distressed 
and wringing his hands. 

” 1 never saw her like this before. 1 must call on Doctor Chris 
tison at once and explain her symptoms to him. It is most alarm- 
ing. She may die any day. Did you ever look on such a distress- 
ing picture of fragility?” 

“ She certainly looked weak. She is so sensitive tc every out- 
ward impression.” 

” God knows what I should do it 1 were to lose her!” 

” You will not lose her.” 

” 1 must see Christison at once. My poor pet! Go out and hear 
from the housekeeper bow she is.” 

Usher went out, and came back to find the sheriff turning over 
the leaves of an atlas. 

” Well?” 

‘‘ Miss Durie says she is all right again, and will join us directly,” 

“ Why, what in the world led up to it? Did she drop off sud- 
denly without any note of warning? Were you discussing any- 
thing that agitated her?” 

‘‘ We were discussing trifles.’’ 

” It is inexplicable.” 

” Not if you take the state of the atmosphere into account.” 

” But it is the first time it ever occurred. 1 shall have to take 
her away somewhere. Indeed, 1 tv ill have to alter all my Hue of 
behavior about her. Good heavens! To think of it. 1 have told 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


you that 1 have hinflerecl her from corresponding with l^ixon, or 
him w’lh her. Do you think that may not have induced the state 
of mind which has brought on this attack?'’ 

Usher did not answer, and as the sheriff was talking as much to 
himself as to him, the question did not demand an answer. Ho 
proceeded: 

“ It was a wrong decision, 1 am afraid. 1 did it for the best. I 
must start afresh. 1 shall write Nixon and tell him to correspond, 
Kang the fellow! If he had been really in love, 1 believe he would 
have corresponded in spite of me. He has been a trifle loo obedi- 
ent to the letter of my request.” 

” 1 think, sheriff, it would be a very ill-advised way of finding 
health for Miss Durie, to recommend her to open such a corre- 
spondence.” 

“lam not so sure of that.” 

” You have changed your mind, then?” 

” Perhaps I have.” 

” Changed it upon a panic. You see Miss Durie taken ill of a 
sudden, and you jump to the conclusion that it’s love tor her Joseph 
Nixon. It isn’t — it isn’t. 1 have been to Ruddersdale, Sheriff Durie 
— have been, and am just returned, and her lover is paying atten- 
tion to a shepherd-girl, and is thinking nothing of Mina.” 

” Come, Usher, be fair. You are rivals. You have no right to 
bring reports to me of that sort.” 

” You dragged it out of me. Besides, am 1 not entitled to speak 
the truth when you have encouraged me to pay attention to Mina, 
with the prospect of marrying her, if she prefers me to Joseph, 
after a time?” 

” Perhaps I have been a little unscrupulous. Perhaps 1 am sorry. 
Perhaps 1 had no right to throw you in her way. What were you 
doing in Ruddersdale?” 

” Investigating.” 

“ And were you in time to hear that my ward has been thrown 
back upon the Infinite by the discovery of a new fragment of the 
strip of deed of conveyance, and that the unique discovery may 
be presently made that Joseph Nixcn is Laird of Dunbeatli?” 

‘‘That is an impossibility.” 

” Why so ?” 

” 1 spent the night with Leslie — you know Leslie?— and he open- 
ed up about Nixon. He didn’t precisely say that he knew his origin, 
but he intimated that he might know it if he liked. But what is 
this new evidence?” 


174 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ Only a bit of the old deed posted to me by some one in Rud- 
dexsdale. 1 reposted it to Nixon, as it seemed most to concern him,, 
and Vve determined to dismiss the subject from my own, and if 
possible, from Mina's mind.” 

*' Ycu are trifling with a great question, sheriff — one that may 
affect her whole future life.” 

” But this crisis in her health bringo me to say that 1 shall take 
her abroad. At oue time 1 thought of going north. 1 will not, 
however. 1 will take her south. 1 will show her a little French, 
life, perhaps a little Italian life too. She has never been abroad, 
and it will do her good. It will put her mind into new channels. 

‘‘ Take her to Paris,” said Usher suddenly, his eyes gleaming 
with excitement. 

” 1 don’t mind if 1 do.” 

Mina came in again, and all through the afternoon was grateful 
to the men for their tenderness to her, and their attention. For 
they vied with each other in saying pleasant things, and in seeming 
to devise happiness for her future. The thunder-storm went on 
outside, and after dinner Usher had them into his little drawing- 
room. He put Mina into the chair which looked most like a throne,, 
and while the rain pelted at the window, he brought her albums- 
and little bits of porcelain, and curiosities which he said belonged 
to his grandmother, though that relation was unknown to him, 
being a personage not in a way of life tor acquiring domestic ob- 
jects capable of being handed down to sons’ sons. She brigntened 
up considerably under the sympathy, and when the sheriff said t> 
her — 

” Mina, I’m going to take you to Paris,” she answered— 

” it is the place of all places in the world 1 should like to see.” 

” Why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

” Because you seem to prefer going to some distant water -side to 
whip it with a rod. 1 hate rivers and rods.” 

” Why?” asked Usher. 

“ Because 1 have to crawl along the bank with a lunch-basket 
and an easel, and when 1 am just sitting down to paint beautifully 
and have got the beginning of an exquisite scene on my canvas, up 
comes a shout, ‘ Mina, Mina, where are you, Mina? These con- 
founded ’—sometimes the adjective is stronger than that — ‘flics 
have grasped a bramble at my back. Would you mind taking 
them 00?’ Or it is, ‘ Mina, Mina, whai have you done with my 
flask?’ Or, ‘ Mina, Mina, 1 begin to feel hungry now.’ Or, ‘ Mina, 
Mina, you should have been here a minute ago— an enormous fish 


' *- CRADLE AND SPADE. -175 

wheeled over at my third fly.’ There is no rest for the poor pil- 
grim "Who has to follow an angler.” 

” 1 didn’t think of it in that light,” said the sherifl remorse- 
tully, ” there certainly is not much fun in angling — for you. Well, 
we may do better abroad. 1 wish you might come with us, Frank.” 

‘‘ 1 should give my head to be able to start ofl; with you.” 

” Is it impossible?” 

‘‘ W hen do you propose to go?” 

” ^Vhen, Mina?” 

” How can 1 say what your engagements are, papa dear?” 

‘‘ 1 sha’n’t put a date on it to-day, but we shall go very soon — 
just as soon as 1 can make all my arrangements with my substitute 
at Uiley.” 

‘‘ To Paris — it sounds too good news to be true. 1 have dreamed 
of seeing it, and being in it. 1 am quite glad 1 should have seemed 
to break down in health if this is to be the result.” 

The thunder-storm went by; the rain ceased; the sounds of foot- 
steps were heard on the street again. 

‘‘ 1 shall not despair of seeing you in Paris,” said Usher, as they 
lose to go. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

FISHING. 

After Usher’s return to the south, Leslie made up his mind to 
adopt a new policy with Xixon, He dropped his feeling of personal 
resentment. He had not spoken ten minutes to Frank Usher be- 
fore he thanked his stars tliat that brilliant young gentleman was 
not the destitute miner. Usher put so many questions to hinD, 
under cover of genial conversation leading to nothing, about Mina 
Durie and the incident he most of all wished to wipe out of his 
mind, that Xixon’s downrightness seemed to him innocence and 
respect compared to it. He came to the conclusion, however, that 
Usher’s interest in Mina was such as he might have had in a Pictish 
ruin, or an old chapel, or a battle-field covered over with moor-land. 
At the same time he was glad to see his back turned and his head 
looking out of Mr. Laggau’s coach. An advocate in full practice 
was a very different sort of animal from an advocate with no 
practice at all. Thus '^t happened that the morning Usher left he 
sat down in his parlor and indited a short epistle to Nison: 

” My Dear !^ir ” (he wrote), ” 1 had intended you to have some 
fishing before this time in the Rudder. 1 fear your search for go!d 


176 


CRADLE AlfD SPADE. 


has not been accompanied with all the success you could have 
wished. It can not be found, except by rare good luck, unless in 
company with experienced diggers who know where to look. 1 
have a fourteen-toot Ircut red that 1 can put at your disposal iliis 
afternoon, if you have any taste in that direction. The river is in 
good conail ion, after flowing down rather heavily from Onoc Dhu, 
I’he kelts have all gone lo the sea, and we can depend upon celling 
clean fish. If you are agreeable, you can come over my house and 
lunch.” 

Nixon was surprised beyond measure to receive the little letter. 
He was beside himself with vexation at times that he had neither 
rod nor line, nor the means of getting them; for the Rudder seemed 
to his eye lo be teeming with trout and salmcn. It was so well 
preserved by Leslie during the great sr part of the year, that, except 
when his own friends went out fishing on it, nobody fished — at 
least on the lower reaches. Shepherds and foresters were privileged 
by distance, and might do what they liked. 

Nixjn was all the more surprised because of Nancy’s warning to 
him to beware of Leslie, to keep out of his way; and the same 
forenoon he had been startled by a little packet from the sherili„ 
and a short letter. 

” Dear Nixon ” (wrote the sherifi), ” The inclosed bit of a deed 
dropped in on nie the other morning, addressed by an unknown 
hand, the envelope bearing the Ruddersdale postmark. You may 
know something of it, and you may not. In any case it will in- 
terest you, particularly if, as 1 suppose, it is a portion of these 
wonderful fragments upon which we have all been building such 
strange imaginings. You will observe that the impoitant letters 
e-p-h N-i occur. That seems to have some personal bearing upon 
yourself. No doubt it will heighten your interest in the search,” 

No allusion to Mina; not a word of old cordiality, nothing but 
the bare cold inclosure. Nixon was in a mood, therefore, to be 
grateful to the factor for his invitation. The need for a little 
human sympathy was strong upon himj for he was beginning to 
despair. Elspeth had gone back to the mountain. The miners, 
were away. He had not joined them, and he did not know 
whether he ever should. A little of lh( m had gone a great way. 
They were amusing at first; then they became embarrassing; then 
they were irritating. Yel he supposed if his cradle did not rock to 
the tune of nuggets on his own account, he must join Russell 
sooner or later, and take Leslie’s wages. He turned his letter over 
and over, and wondered why he should have been asked to fish 
with him. He did not quiie understand Nvhy Leslie should be his 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


177 


enemy, though Nancy insinuated that he was; still, this sudden 
development of hospitality was just as incomprehensible. He had 
done nothing to biing it round. He could think of no reason to 
account tor it. But he determined to accept, lie hungered and 
thirsted for a fourteen-fool rod, and he missed the swing of the 
arm and the velvety laying of the flies on the surface of the stream, 
and the boiling over of the flsh, and the rushing out, and the bend- 
ing of. the point of the red, and the scream of the reel, and the slow 
winding up and retreating and advancing upon the bank, and the 
tired fish brought to the edge, landed, killed, and put into the bas- 
ket. Yes, he would go over and lunch with the potentate, though 
he did not like him, remembering that he had narrowly escaped 
from death at his hand. He did not blame him for intending to 
shove him into the stream; still he recollected that it was Leslie’s 
elbow which had almost achieved that result. When he went up 
to the bank, the banker w’as already equipped for a day on the 
stream.; he received him with extended arm and a broad smile on 
his face. 

“ 1 thought you would come,” he said. 

‘ Yes, 1 couldn’t well avoid coming on the back cf so kind an 
invitation. You are very good to offer me a rod and free fishing 
on a preserved stream. I’ve been dying to fish ever since I came.” 

” You should have asked me sooner, and 1 would have supplied 
you. 1 keep the town off the water, of course; but 1 am not so 
exclusive as to shut up the Rudder from a stranger, well accredited 
and a visitor. You may fish, as you may dig, when, where, or how 
you like. There’s your rod. It’s not quite as tali as mine. Mine 
is a salmon-rod. Y’^ours has caught salmon, too, but on trout-flies, 
and with a great strain on the point. V^e have a chance for both 
to-day.” 

They sat down to lunch, and discussed all the flies of all the 
Scotch rivers, which Nixon knew by heart. He surprised Leslie 
by telling him what he thought the flies ought to be for the day on 
the Rudder. 

” You’ve been up and seen them?” 

“No, not I,” 

” Then you’ve fished before?” 

” Many a time. I’ve fished all over the place. We are only a 
county now, you know. A county, as a serious Presbyterian fate 
would have it, for English people to amuse themselves in. The 
natives don’t believe it; but it’s very much of a fact all the same. 
And I know the county sufllciently well, and its flies loo.” 


178 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ I don’t like that flippant style of discussing a great historical 
country. It’s no county; it’s a nation; it’s a great nation— at least 
the people who are in it and reside in it permanently are great; the 
pocr wretches who are driven out of it by stronger men, and who 
turn round and shcot out their tongue at it, they are not great, they 
are mean, and contemptible, and small. Don’t imu call Scotland 
a county again, and a pleasure-ground for England. I know Scots 
M^ho are willing to march across the border and beard England in 
the teeth, as their ancestors did at Bannockburn.” 

Yes, they beard England in Lombard Street, in the Lane, and 
all over London. Somebody told me the banks — ” 

” Now we’re talking business; if so, let us talk it seriously. You 
led me to suppose, some time ago, that the law had failed ycu, 
that you were no more intending to practice, but that you were 
open to a job.” 

” It depends upon the job.” 

” ^hen a man is hard-up he shouldn’t be nice.” 

” But 1 am rather nice in some things. 1 wouldn’t thieve to 
oblige a man who was good enough to open his streams to me. I'm 
obliged to him tor the opportunity to flsh in a fair way; but if he 
wants to purloin, he must gel a hold of some other dirtier fist, or, 
being to the manner born, he can purloin himself.” 

‘‘ With your opinions a man will never get anything but scraps 
to live on. But that’s not what 1 meant to say to you i t all. 1 
don’t want you to purloin—l don’t want you to steal. 1 was go- 
ing merely to ask you if ycu had any disinclination to go abroad.” 

” Abroad?” 

” Yes.” 

Where?” 

” No very great way oft.” 

” Over the North Sea?” 

”No.” 

” Where then? Across the English Channel?” 

“No.” 

•' Where?” 

” To Australia.” 

” Well, if 1 know any geography, that’s about as far (.ft as 1 
could go.” 

” But it’s easy reached. Fine ships— clipper ships from the 
Clyde river nowadays. A floating hotel all the way, any of them.” 

” And what would you commission me to do?” 

' To go to Melbourne in the first place.” 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


179 


“ \es.” 

“ To go to Ballarat in the next place.” 

“Yes.” 

” To look up the old seat of the eold-fields. Some of them are 
covered with bush and grass already, 1 know, but some of them 
are not; and there are grave-yards and registers of the buried still 
in existence.” 

” Yes.” 

“Go out to Ballarat, and find if there is still a crossover a grave 
with H. D. on it. Find if there is any record of who H. f). may 
have been. See what name he was buried with — ” 

” You want me to verify » lying miner’s romance?” 

“ You will be well paid for it. You will be better there than 
here. It’s a fair ofter. Help yourself.” 

“ Give me a little time to think it over. I’m not greatly in love 
with the ofier, because the colonies don’t much attract me, 1 don’t 
say 1 will refuse it, however, if you will make it worth my while.” 

“ If you execute the job tc my mind, you will get £1000 tor it.” 

“ 1 can do it in fifteen months, L suppose?” 

“ Perhaps in less.” 

“ Then 1 won’t say yes right off, but I think it’s very likely 1 
will say it before long.” 

“ Then, it you’re ready, we’ll take our rods and baskets and go.” 

They went out together in high, friendly key. Nixon was ever 
friendly when he had the chance. He naturally supposed that other 
people wished to be so, and he knew no reason why this man should 
not; and really now that he was obliging and genial, and oftering 
him £1000 for fifteen months’ travel, or perhaps even fewer, he had 
a great mind to accept. In the meantime he followed at his heels 
on the river, and talked tc him in response to words thrown over 
his shoulder, and they stood on the bank together at a deep pool 
beneath a cruive, pulling their lines through the rings of their rods, 
helping each other to untwist refractory coils of gut, comparing 
flies, and snipping knots with their teeth. 

“ Do you wade?” asked NIxcn. 

“ Higher up 1 do.” 

“ Then I’d better get above you.” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ But 1 don’t wade.” 

“ No matter for that.” 

“ 1 have a superstition somehow that a man who gets mto the 


180 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


water afEects the nereous system of the trout tor three hundred 
yards beneath him," said Nixon, 

“ Then you know nothing about fishing.” 

” Wr’ 11 see about that ivhen we come to weigh oui baskets.” 

‘‘ I won’t wade here, because it’s ten teet deep, and 1 haven’t a 
salmon fly suited for the pool.” 

‘‘ Then I’ll lead oil and get above you.” 

” 1 can’t stand a man fishing above me.” 

” Why?” 

”1 have a feeling that I’m getting the miserable rejected re- 
mainder who jump on a last shift.” 

“ Then you won’t wade,” said Nixon. 

”1 will wade.” 

” Very well, we shall part company. X must stick out for my 
fights.” 

‘‘ There aie no rights on the river bank.” 

There are; and one of them is, that the man who doesn’t wade 
gets the option of walking on before, and fishing the stream before 
the wader. Why, don’t you see that my end fly may be playing 
at the heel of your boot, while you are in the middle of the stream 
playing for a quiet spot beneath the opposite bank?” 

” That’s nothing.” 

” Then 1 shall hand in my rod.” 

” Hand it in, and be bunged to you.” 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

A RISE IN THE RIVER, 

Nixon no sooner heard the factor’s exclamation than he recov- 
ered his good humor. 

” Nc,” he said, ” Mr, Leslie, 1 sha’n’t be such a baby as hand 
you my rod. Don’t let us quarrel on the river bank. They are 
sensitive in these deep pools, and, overhearing remarks, they are 
apt to sulk.” 

The factor followed suit, and became agreeable also. 

‘‘ 7ou see it’s no use,” he replied, ” your pitting the ^oerience 
of your life against mine. 1 have had Lord Stroma fishing here, 
and while 1 waded he plied the fly at my back. Lord Stroma knows 
fish better than any man in these parts, and it’s his opinion that the 
effect of wading upon them is as nothing to a noise upon the bank. 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


181 


I've had the Hon. Mr. Dirlot too, with that rod you have in your 
hand, fishing on the bank while 1 waded, and he has landed a thret' 
pounder from ihe heel of my boot.” 

“All right, then. Don’t mind my expostulations. Having 
lodged my protest, 1 feel comfortable, and can go to work with my 
conscience eased.” 

” Away you go, then, ahead of me, and lash the water till you 
get to the broad corner at the head of the valley. You will see an 
island there. If you can manage to reach that island, and fish 
with 'the current which flows between it and the opposite bank, 1 
promise you a basket.” 

“We can weigh baskets at the store in the square as we come 
back.” 

“ Very good.” 

Nixon was not sorry to wander aw'ay in advance of Leslie. Ho 
began to feel uncomfortable in his presence for no particular reason. 
It could not be the domineering tone he adopted. That did not 
disturb him; it was the lowering look he bestowed upon him from 
time to lime, as of enmity striving to be friendship. Then the pro- 
posal to go to Australia— what could it mean? It was a munificent 
cfier, and one not lightly to beset aside. Yet it was suspiciously 
munificent. The information might be acquired at much less cost, 
it Leslie chose. Why should he want to give him so large a sum? 
There was something behind it which he did not understand. He 
w'alked slow y round the valley, laying his flies softly on the brown 
stream, new behind a stone, now at the quiet spots in the lee of a 
little isknd of sedge, now in the main current. But he seemed to 
have lost his cunning. There was an unusual tremor in his arm, 
and he did not succeed in raising a single trout. Locking back, he 
saw that Leslie was playing something in the deep pool of consicler- 
able w'eight, for his rod was curved and his line taut, and his reel 
working. He must get to the island at once, if he hoped to match 
his basket against his opponent at the end cf the evening. 

But it was no such easy matter to reach the island. Where the 
river turned the corner toward the mountains the water flowed deep 
on the side on which Nixou found himslf. Unless he jumped from 
a rock at the edge to a submerged rock in the center, and trusted to 
finding shallow water nearer the island through which he could 
splash to the strand, there was no means of reaching it. He looked 
twice before he tried if, but the third time he sprung, and, with 
five or six bounds and a splash, he was among the pebbles of the 
island, raising the sand-pipers from the rushes as he strode toward 


182 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


a point which commanded a broad sweep of water at the other 
side. Coming round the high banks behind him was a slight 
breeze which raised a ruffle upon the water. 

The stream hardly seemed to move till it got further down the 
island, but he tried a cast in the quiet water, and at his first throw 
had the agreeable sensation of a jerk at his casting-line, a dive, and 
a wheeling of his reel. His nervous tremor instantly departed; he 
had hooked his first fish. It took him no great time to reel him 
to his feet, for he was no great weight, but as he brought him to 
the beach, and witnessed his gambols among the shingle, he had 
the edge ot his anticipation whetted. He tried another cast with 
precisely the same result, and before he had stood an hour he had 
managed to land something every three minutes Then his aim 
got tired, and he paused to look about him. From the corner of 
the valley he could make out Cnoc Dhu in the distance. 

What could Elspeth be about? Singular girl! To be born and 
brought up like a lapwing, and yet to have so much individuality,, 
so much originality, so much that attracted him and made him 
love her. He wondered when he would see her again. He turned 
and saw Leslie standing high over him on the steep bank of the 
iiver. 

“ I’ve been w^atching you,” he roared down. “ You are doing 
very well, but you haven’t got anything like this,” showing the 
tail of a grilse at the mouth of his basket. 

“ No. My flies won’t bring up anything like that, but 1 am quite 
pleased. 1 am rapidly filling my creel— all half-pounders. 1 say, 
whet’s the matter with the water?” 

The question was natural enough. Quite suddenly the strand 
where he stood became submerged, not with a slow ascending tide 
from the sea, but with a wave of brown wood from Cnoc Dim. 

‘‘ It comes down like that sometimes,” cried Leslie. ‘‘ There’a 
no danger. It will pass and go by. An overflow from Dirlot. 
Fish away; I’m pounds ahead of you.” 

Nixvjn did not like the aspect of the water, but he returned to his 
place without looking back, and, as luck would have it, a mag- 
nificent thiee-DOunder bolted his second fly and fled deep into the 
liver. He saw there was something going on with the water, that 
it seemed to be heightening; but his three-pounder went away 
with t\yenty yards of line, and showed such a resolute pluck and 
will of his own, that Nixon concentrated all his attention upon his 
movements. It was a superb trout, as he could see, reeling hinr 
up to the surface, and as he could feel when he bolted deep into 


CKADLE AI^D SPADE. 


183 


the water, and sulked at the bottom like an eel beneath a stone. 
Shortly he torgot the rising in the river^ as his trout ran away with 
half his line in his teeth, and he felt himself obliged to wade a lit- 
tle. He waded deep, the water advancing to his thighs and to hia 
middle. He began to feet, wnen there was an impulsion which 
almost lifted him from his legs, that he had gone too far in. But 
' his trout was sulking, and he was bound to have him. He did 
. not retreat, Iherelore, but slowly reeled him to the surface and 
toward him, when a wave of "water, extending from bank to bank, 
increasing the run of the stream from three to four inches, lifted 
him from his feet. He was an expert swimmer, but he had a rod in 
his hand anti a desirable trout at the end of it, which he had not 
intention of abandoning. He kept a firm finger on the reel, and the 
result was that he was carried o3 his feet, and, for a moment or 
two, had the sensation of being choked with a sweetish kind of 
water. 

As the wave carried him his eye rested on the clay-bank oppo- 
site him, and he had a vivid picture impressed unon his mind of 
swifts flying over the stream, the wave of tbe river reaching to the 
holes in which theii nests were. They flew and screamed and 
daited —he saw that; then he found his feet again, and was on the 
island, with the trout still at the end of the line. But the overflow 
had taken all the spirit out of the trout; he made no more resist- 
ance. ISlixon gathered up his line and brought him to his feet, as he 
turned the white of his belly to the light and put him in his bas- 
ket, from which he found that a fly-book and all he had caught 
had been washed out and away. Having found his feet again, he 
saw that he was surrounded with danger. The roemy island, ris- 
ing from shingle edges and rushes into a gieen carpet of grass and 
. ferns, was submeiged, except at one point— the little patch to which 
! he had retreated. Ihe rock from which he had leaped was invisi- 
ble, and the water circled and rushed with a rapidity which made 
him giddy to look at. Anxiously he gazed toward Cnoc Dhu ; theie 
was a black cloud concealing the summit; it had been there all the 
afternoon, and now red light was flashing out of it. Rain must 
have been descending in a deluge up there. He turned on the un- 
submerged patch and looked up the bank. Leslie w’as leaning on 
his rod staring at him. He put his hand to his mouth and called 


up- 

“ Am 1 safe here?” 

But there was an intervening roar of watei, and Leslie, putting 
his hand to his mouth and shouting down to him, he heard nothing. 


184 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


In despair he looked up the tumbling pathway of the stream; he 
saw a higher ridge of water bearing down, and it must submerge 
the island and carry him oS. He flung the basket from his shoul- 
der and dropped the rod from his hand; unfastening his bools and 
kicking them from him, he tossed away his jacket and waistcoat, 
and waited. He could swim, certainly, but this would be swim- 
ming in a rushing and choking torrent; but he would not give ud 
hope. Tlxe forked lightning pla3^ed about the summit of Cnoc 
Dhu, and the clouds blackened to a deeper intensity. What a de- 
sire for life he felt as if he saw the new w^ave of “ spate ” descending. 
Downward, with a serpentine and curling motion it came; he stood 
on tiptoe on the highest point of the island; it swept over the 
island, but he found himself, after all was over, only surrounded 
to the knees. Every trace of green earth was now removed; on 
every side of him the river raved and'raged, and began to overflow 
its banks into the neighboring stretch of moor. Again Kixon 
looked up and saw Leslie gazing down at him. He made no effort 
to help him. He seemed to be transfixed. 

“Good-bye!” roared Nixon through the rushing of the waters. 
“ The next wave will do it.” But no response came back; the fac- 
tor neither spoke nbi waved an arm at him. From time to time 
Nixon was obliged to shut his eyes, the whirling of the water had 
such a sickening effect; but on one of these occasions half agate 
came reeb'ng down on him and drove him off his pinnacle. He re- 
gained it, weak, and, as he thought, injured in his ribs; he began 
to feel as if he could not swim, should the worst come to the 
worst. And that the full force of the torrent had not come upon 
him, he knew from the lambent fires among the mountains and 
the horrid masses of deluging cloud. Tes, there was more to come, 
and with it came all sorts of debris, flying on the face of the cur- 
rent, to the right and to the left of him, and death might be in the 
next blow. He kept his eye fixed on the upper waters — yes, the 
next wave must do it, and it was coming. It rolled down like a 
cataract, filled up the bed of the stream, ran far over the banks 
and up the whins and furze at Leslie's feel. Nixon was submergsd 
to the armpits; still he kept his place. It was desperate work; 
it fatigued him, and he believed it would soon drown him. There 
was another wave coming, higher than any of the rest; but what 
was this in mid-stream? A boat borne along with the flood, and 
some one in it— but a boat unmanaged, whirling with the current; 
no oars out. It had broken loose in the upper reaches. Nixon 
looked at it descending, and turned up his head to the skies, with 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


185 


an unuttered feeling of thankfulness. He was saved. God! was 
he? The wave came; ho was borne off his feet with a violent 
rush; when he rose the boat was passing him. It was beyond his 
grasp. He shrieked, and the next moment found an oar at his 
hand, but he made a dizzy circuit, thrice round with the circling 
. boat, before he reached the gunwales. He was helped in by EIs- 
peth Gun. They spoke not a word. Elspeth was pale, and like 
himself, as he saw at a glance, prepared for death. It was the coble 
she had rowed in Lcch Dirlot when he first met her. No sooner 
did he tumble into it, helped by her nervous right arm, than he 
sat down at the o^rrs. 

*• You have saved me, Elspeth. Now 1 will try to save yon,” 
he said, leaning to his oars, and stopping the giddy gyrations in 
which the cable spun. 

“ 1 had given up hope,” she said, clasping her hands, and drop- 
ping on her knees at the stern. ” 1 shut my eyes and thought I 
would die.” 

Nixon did not hear her. He thought she was praying, for .she 
covered her face with her hands. In another moment he knew they 
would have to shoot through a cruive, and beyond that keep the 
center of the stream, if they were to avoid gaping cliffs of iron. 
Yts, there was the cruive, and one opening; would he strike the 
center? Another inch, and the coble would have been broken to 
pieces on the edge of the stone key, but an inch was as good as a 
mile, as Nancy sometimes said ou less critical occasions. Nixon 
remembered the saw, however, as they dashed out into the water, 
and were sucked into the rushing current between the rocks. " An 
inch is as good as a mile,” he said aloud to Elspeth, whose right 
hand pressed her eyes. 8he did not look, she did not speak; she 
seemed resigned to any fate that might await her. 

The coble wheeled and spun down through the cliffs and rushed 
violently into open water. Nixon thought he might try to beach 
her, but he concluded, as they svvept along, that the chance of cap- 
sizal was less by trying to shoot the totvn bridge and reach the sea. 
He saw the town people, with hoes and poles, standing on the 
edge of the bank, gathering the flotsam which the sudden rise of 
the water had given them. They looked in amazement at the 
coble, shouted advices to him which he did not hear, ran along 
the bank waving their arms; then there was the gate of cliff be- 
hind the town. The danger was the central arch of the bridge; 
the water whirled violently into it and threatened to break the 
coble in splinters, Safe by an inch again! A giddy shouting on 


ISG 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


the bridge above him, and the stream broadened out and became 
more easy to row in. Kight out in front of him was the harbor 
bur, with the waves moaning on either side. He turned once to 
see his way through, and in a few minutes was able to say to 
Elspeth — 

“ Elspeth, you are saved. We are in the Marnock Firth. The 
sea is quite quiel, though Cnoc Dhu has sent down all this water.’^ 

Elspeth removed her hand from her eyes. They were dry. 

“ Will 1 ever forget this day, think you?” 

” 1 sha'n’t. I’m half inclined to think that worthy banker pre- 
pared a trap for me.” 

” He couldn’t make the thunder and lightning and rain at Cnoc 
Dhu.” 

“No; but he brutally deceived me. But the thunder-cloud is 
coming down over the town. The sooner we are in the harbor 
mouth the better.” 

” i will take an oar,” she said, sitting down beside him. 

His wrist was numb and fatigued. He let her take an oar, and 
they rowed together toward the mouth of the harbor, where as 
yet it was calm enough. 

In a few’ minutes they had reached the stairs inside, and he w^as 
helpin^f her up. 

‘ 1 must away home again at once,” she remarked, not looking 
at him, and shaking her dress. ‘‘ j\Iy poor father and mother will 
die of fright when they know the coble is gone, and me not to be 
seen.” 

You will do nothing of the sort. You will go up to Kaucy’s 
and rest, and 1 will sefid somebody into the mountain lor you ” 

” But you are taking great care of me.” 

“You saved my life.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

DATfCiNG. 

The sheiiff could not explain Mina’s collapse that Sunday after- 
noon, but he was glad to observe that it did not permanently affect 
her health. He judged it was something about Xixon, for when- 
ever his name came up she changed the conversation, or found 
something to dc in another room. The sheriff was not quite certain 
whether she did not feel that she owed Joseph a grudge for the 
new claim established upon these wretched fragments of parch- 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


187 


ment. IJe did not mind very much unless it really turned out, 
somehow or other, that he was heir to something as extraordinary 
as the baronetcy from which Mina seemed suddenly to be ousted. 
!Now that he made sure her heart w’as not going to break, he felt 
that a little alienation from Joseph was matter for congratulation 
rather than anything else. Nixon’s difficulty w’as Usher’s oppor- 
tunity, and, on the whole, that was of vast importance. Usher 
was succeeding, and everything seemed to point to his reaching 
the highest expectations of his friends and frustrating the hopes of 
Lis enemies. 

“ 1 shall pul nothing in the w'ay of circumstances,” reflected 
the sherid again, ” let them 'lead where they will.” The reflection 
was made inside a heather -house, where he sat idly glancing from 
some manuscript pages of his great w’ork at Mina bending over a 
flower-bed which she w’atered tenderly. 

“lam not going to interrupt you, papa dear. Don’t mind me 
In the least. Don’t look, even.” 

” Oh, 1 am not a small boy at schcol, bound, poor fellow, to 
Lave ‘ jam satis terris nivis atque dir£B ’ all by heart against the day 
after to-morrow. 1 may look, if 1 like, Mina. What are these you 
are watering?” 

” I’m ashamed to say that at this moment 1 don’t know.” 

‘‘ How do you know you aren’t killing them?” 

‘‘No; they are annuals, and the ground is dry and parched, and 
if nature w’on’t give them a shower, they must have it from me. 
Dot you don’t need to talk, papa. 1 wouldn’t interrupt the life of 
an eminent Scotch sheiifi: for a great deal. 1 would rather lose half 
the annuals in the bed.” 

‘‘ Allow me, Mina dear, to know' when 1 may lift my head from 
, my great work and talk. 1 was going to say, you will have to be 
ready about eight to drive into Hopetoun Dooms. Dancing will 
commence a little before ten. 1 sha’n't dance myself, but 1 shall 
be very glad to see you at it.” 

” Dance!” exclaimed Mina, holding up her watering-pot. ‘‘ No. 
Nor shall 1 dance. 1 shall go and see how it is with those who are 
young and hapjry. 1 shall put myself against a mirror in the third 
room up, and w ipe the breaths ofl; w ith my back, and the back of 
I my head sometimes, and turn round and see their reflections in it, 
how they like it. 1 am a wall-flow'er. 1 always liked the w’albflotver 
as a flower. 1 shall be one now with perfect and absolute enjoy- 
ment. 

The shcrifl elbow^ed his great work into a corner, came out with 


188 


CiiADLE A:SD spade. 


liis abominable hat, 'which no hawker would have picked out ct a 
puddle, under his elbow, placed it on his head, looking like an old- 
tasliioned descendant of Abraham who had got into an absurd 
trade, whose prosperity depended upon the accentuation of “ O’’ 
do 

“ Wall-flower!” said the sherifl:. ” You’ll go and find out the 
litile bit ol chi;^on 1 like best, and be ready to sliak?. hands with 
the old colonel and all his officers. It's a farewell little dance. The 
199lh have been suddenly ordered out of the Castle. They are go- 
ing to Ceylon. Governor Oliphant has just been appointe !, and 
has written for the cheapest regiment, and the cheapest is tne 199lh. 
But they all dance, and they are all very goed fellows, Mina, and 
if our system, our iniquitous system of purchase, were abolished, 
some of the 199th would be in the Guards, not where they are.” 

” 1 don’t deny them the possession of intellect and skill in war, 
and a desire to slash. Ko. What 1 do deny is the desire in my- 
self to dance.” 

“Mina, you are interrupting me seriously. You have watered 
your flowers. 1 am going to this little ball. You will, if you in 
tne very least degree care lor my happiness, go, too.” 

“Very well, papa dear.” 

The sheriff went back to his great work. Mina went into the 
house, to her bedroom, to her wonderful closet, where, with all the 
colors of the rainbow in them, her dancing-dresses stood arranged 
on pegs, 

” Nellie,” shouted Mina. 

“Yes, MissDurie.” 

‘‘lam going to dance.” 

” Yes, Miss Durie,” looking at her, all the same, with a regret- 
ful expression. 

Nellie read all Mina’s lettters, heard all the sheriff’s conversa- 
tion, understood day by day to a certainty what the state of her 
mistress’s heart was. She liked Mr. Nixon hitler than any other 
body. She thought and wished her mistress would marry him* 
«he looked at her and asked: 

” Miss Durie, has Mr, Nixon come to town?” 

“No, you stupid thing! lie has not come to town. And what 
if he had come to town? Is that of the least interest to you or me?” i 

“ It used to be, Miss Durie.” 

“ Yes ” (bitterly), “ it used to be. But a few weeks is a long 
past lor a man. A long past, 'which blots out 3^ears of the future.’* 

“ That’s beyond me. Miss Durie,” 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


189 


“ Very well, so it cuglit. Tbo blierift insists that 1 shall dance 
to-niglit— to-night! Think ot that, Nellie! And Joseph— Joseph 
Nixon— not there to look at me.*’ 

Mina wept on her maid’s bosom, and the maid, raising her apron, 
applied it to her mistress’s eyes. 

“ Pooh!” said the maid, in a soothing accent, ‘* pooh, Miss Dune, 
the 199th is a splendid regiment. 1 may say that Corporal Mac- 
dnugall comes out here regularly to see the daughter of—” 

/ am foolish to give way liKe this. 1 hale emotions and scenes, 
and 1 like dancing, and 1 will dance. Yes, 1 will dance, Joseph 
or no Joseph. 

Again she put her head down upon her maid’s shoulder, and 
wept. 

” Dear Miss Durie, 1 know you will dance, and 1 only said that 
Corporal Macdougall come out here to court a girl — sister to the 
Misses Finlay’s maid — and he brought Sergeant — Dear Miss Du- 
rie, don’t cry!” 

” Go on, go on. Tell me about Sergeant Corporal. 1 am sure 
he must be a very nice fellow, Kellie, if you say so. 1 have no ob- 
jection to him in the world. 1 don’t want you to marry just yet; 
but it you insist upon it, 1 shall be very happy to make a present.” 

” Dear miss, you are quite wrong. 1 wouldn’t marry any of the 
199th. But they are very nice to dance with. Only 1 am told they 
are a cheap regiment, and have to gc abroad to a tad climate to 
save money to retire upon. Governor Oliphant has written fcr 
them, because they are cheap and willing to die.” 

” Kellie, what would you advise me to wear?” 

‘‘Well, Miss Durie, you have only seven choices. The other 
seven dresses couldn’t be ready for a dance to-night. Bui the other 
seven— yes, any of them; and 1 would advise, miss, a dress tc con- 
ceal what you were feeling,” 

‘‘ You are a hypocrite.” 

” 1 would say a cream-colored satin with some Spanish lace, 
miss, and as little crinoline as possible. Indeed, Miss Durie, 1 may 
say that Sir James Smeeson sent an old lady round to Mr. Hope’s 
lor three days, and she said that crinoline was obstetrical, and that 
if young ladies knew, they would let it alone— she said so, indeed.” 

” Goose!” 

” 1 do think, Miss Durie, that a cream-colored satin— this one — 
and the lace I mention, would do very well.” 

” 1 shall do nothing of the sort. Y’ou seem to have Sir James 
Smeeson and his army of old women on the brain.” 


190 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ It would be a protest against it. Miss Duiie.” 

“ Ah, well, in that liaht, Spanish lace! Ko, 1 shall have Chan- 
tilly. Can you take it ofl this dress in time?” 

” Yes, indeed, Miss Durie.” 

“Now, Nellie, lock yourself up. You have only three hours 
without interruption to work in, and after that 1 must be dressed 
for the Hopetoiin Rooms.” 

Mina went cut and watered her flowers again. The sherift was 
really wrilina this time. He saw her, but did not look up. She 
looked at her watch. 

” Plenty of time, Mina dear,” said the sheriff, his quill bettveen 
his teeth and his blotting-paper applied to his page. 

‘‘ Y’ou don’t require to speak.” 

” No, but 1 will if 1 like, ” 


CHAPTER XXXVll. 

nOPETOUN ROOMS. 

Just before the sheriff had arrayed himself in his plain suit of 
black he had the pleasure of seeing Mina come into his library, 
fully equipped for dancing. He saw her with a throb of affection 
and regret, for she looked to his eyes exceedingly beautiful; and he 
thought she must necessaiily be irresistible to every young man in 
the ball-Tocm. She was a little pale, with thedeast indication of a 
flush of excitement; her dark eyes sparkled as she spread herself 
out for his approval, and her head was slightly thrown back, as if 
her spirit were contending with some unievealed annoyance — as 
indeed it was. 

” Will 1 pass muster, papa dear?” 

‘‘Let me look you all over,” said the sheiiff, raising his 
nez, and gazing, without elaborate comprehension, upon the chi^ffon 
in which she was enveloped. 

‘‘Pass muster' You will pass it so well that 1 must put you 
through the form of an oath, that no bumptious little lieutenant 
may induce you to run away with him.” 

‘‘Run away, papa dear! And with a little lieutenant! 1 am 
glad you approve. Nellie has a quite exquisite taste, 1 think. She 
throw’s herself into her work as if she were painting a picture. 
Slie looks on me, when it is all over, as if 1 were a work of art, all 
of her own devising.. So,, to a certain extent, X am. 1 mean to 
dance everything to-night, papa dear.” 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


191 


“ Heaven forbid! 1 know the precious regiment departs in the 
morning, and the poor wretches cught to have a little respite to 
pick themselves up for their journey.” 

” Ko respite. They are soldiers. What have soldiers to do with 
sleep?” 

” Think cf me. How shall 1 remain on the ground all night? 
You know it is all 1 can do to stand up to a quadrille without 
losing my head, and that it 1 don’t pick my partner with the great- 
est care, 1 inevitably put my toot in it to the distraction of a whole 
group. Wherefore, 1 never dance. And, though playing whist is 
amusing up to a certain point, the charm of it departs after three 
o’clock in the moining.” 

”1 shall send you home with Mrs. Gibson or Mrs. Finlay. 1 
know they are both going. She has— Mrs. Gibson 1 mean— been 
invited because her sister Maria’s fourth daughter, who is bewilder- 
ingly pretty, happens to be Jiving with her. Mrs. Finlay takes 
Bessie and Gerty.” 

” Thanks, my dear, but 1 had rather play whist till the morning 
light is coming in at the upper windows of the rocms, than accom- 
pany that unwholesome and entiiely obnoxious woman some yards 
on her way hoipe. 1 never exchange more than a small nod with 
her. 1 never shall, if 1 can help it.” 

‘‘ Well, papa dear, I did not want to go, but now 1 am going 1 
must dance. Dance! dance! Why, 1 feel as if 1 could lead a 
ballet. 1 feel as it there was nothing for me to do in this life but 
dance, wheel, turn— like the poor little top which thought it was 
the solar system.” 

” My dear, you are not the solar system, nor are you the top of 
ancient story, though you seem to be determined to wheel to Cu- 
pid’s w^hip.” 

‘‘ Cupid! Nc! 1 shall do it in defiance cf everybody, in wild, 
delirious rebellion. Papa dear, we want all our time.” 

” Then 1 shall dress.” 

The sheriff dressed, and before ten o’clock the pair had appeared 
at the end of Queen Street, where Edinburgh was depositing car- 
riage after carriage, cat after cab, the guests of the departing regi- 
ment. 

3Iina and the sheriff passed through the outer corridor among a • 
grove of hanging-plants, whose perfume mingled with the aromatic 
scents of other climes distilled from the dresses of the ladies. Mina 
did not use scents, having read a certain essay in Montaigne greatly 
to her advantage. She did not approve of them, though a slight 


102 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


bouquet in her hands, with a suggestion of led, white, and blue in 
it, at once recommended her to every lieutenant who saw her enter 
the rooms and go up, alongside the sheiiff, to the innermost circle, 
where Lieutenant-General Lady Macallum was discoursing to Mrs. 
Uibson after her first quadrille. 

" Hang it!” said the sheriS, as he led his ward between a lane of 
silent wail-flowers and a bewildering frou-jrou of wheeling petti- 
coats, which now approached, now retreated, nearing and disap- 
pearing from his legs and person. ‘‘ Hang it! Sit down anywhere; 
that old woman is certain to expeci me to dance with her.” 

” No, papa; you must go straight on to Lady Macallum — straight 
on; they are looking. How d’you do? how d’you do? how d’you 
do?” {en route). ” She will not expect you to dance. Besides, you 
can excuse yourself, if you like, in any way you like.” 

‘‘To be sure, sheriff, you deserve to be congratulated on your 
appearance,” said her ladyship. ” But only look at the general, 
and be ashamed of yourself. He really is wonderful for — No 
matter what oi how many years.” 

” He must have deuced little inside his ancient pate to whirl like 
that,” thought the sheriff, as Mina congratulated Mrs. Gibson on 
looking so well. 

” 1 was just saying to Lady Macallum that it the sheriff left his 
studies 1 would insist upon a dance— a reel if you please, sheriff 
Durie.” 

Ihe sheriff IcoJced aghast, gazed into his bouquet, sniffed, and 
pretended not to hear. 

“There are reels. Lady Macallum?” 

“Yes, of course; do you suppose the 199th are to be ruled by any 
but Scotch traditions? Not they, indeed; it you wait long enough, 
^when the programme is exhausted, yoifcan improvise such dances 
as you may care about.” 

“ But that will be very, very late,” said Mina, pitying the poor 
sheiiff, who had drawn the line upon dancing at three o’clock in 
the morning. 

“ \Yho is speaking?” asked Mrs. Gibson, sarcastically. 

“Ah, that reminds me,” said Lady Macallum; “that reminds 
me— a thousand congratulations. Miss Durie. When you come 
into your kingdom, remember— not the 199th, they will be far over 
the seas — but remember your friends with game. Don’t sell your 
game. 1 think it quite the most demoralizing thing that our land- 
ed people have invented— setting up as poulterers on their own ac- 
count. It isn’t as if they hadn’t friends enough to eat their game. 


CHADLR AKD SPADE. 


:m 


They have plenty of fricDtls—a friend for every grouse, partridge, 
red-deer, or fiare they might shoot. 1 believe it’s Apieiica that’s 
doing it. These Americans are beginning to be the fashion, and* 
they nave no shame whatever in the gain made over a counter. 
Don’t sell your game, my dear. Give it away.” 

The sherift stood, with his back turned upon the trio, miserably 
looking through the innce-nez at the rolling wave of brocade, velvet, 
tarlatan, tulle, and gauze. 

‘‘You are longing to dance,” said Mrs. Gibson. ”1 have been 
laid up very bad indeed, with a plaster on my back; but I’m all 
right now.” 

‘‘-God bless me, madam!” said the sheriff, looking at Mina, and 
morally intercepting the word ‘‘ plaster ” with a reproachful glance 
of his 03 ^ 6 , ‘‘1 never dance. It doesn’t agree with me. 1 say, 
here are the lord advocate and his wdfe. 1 thought he was in Lon- 
don. He’s run up on purpose.” 

The lord advocate tried to achieve a military bow to Lady 
Macallum, hut only succeeded in making a despairing bend as if 
he rvere looking at an unlearned brief; his wife did not bend at 
all, but only shook hands condescendingly. She hoped to bo Lady 
Something or other herself in a few weeks, if a certain bill passed 
in which her husband was greatly interested, or if the Government, 
of which he was Scotch director, was not bowled over in the mean- 
time. 

‘‘ My Lord Advocate,” said Mrs. Gibson, “ this is leap-year, and 
I’ve asked the sheriff to dance, and he doesn’t like it. Kow, my 
Lord Advocate, 1 think there are times when v^e should all look to 
supporting our old Scotch customs. The waltz, 3 '^ou know, that’s 
not Scotch— that came in in the year 1812, for reasons well known 
to you, not creditable to any one. It’s a dance 1 would banish. 
There— there, that’s my sister Maria’s fourth girl. She’s not so 
giddy as she looks. That’s Captain Bramwell with her. He’s a 
Newcastle man — Coal and Coke Bramwell. If he gels her, he’s 
got a gem; if she gets him, she’ll get a poor Ihiog with three thou- 
sand a year of his own. And I’ll insist on his selling out.” 

Mrs. Gibson had been talking away to herself fnr some time. 
Lady Macallum, the lord advocate, the sheriff, and Mina had 
crossed the upper room, beneath the regimental flags and under the 
regimental band; and all of a sudden the music ceased, and the 
dizzy whiil ended in a general parting to right and left of tlie 
gauze, tulle, tarlatan, velvet, and brocade. 

Lieutenant-General Macallum, wiping his moist brow, dropped a 


194 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


3 'outhful paitner three rooms cloM'n, and joined the sheriff and the 
rest of them". 

Mrs Gibson hobbled round. “ 1 was saying, Sir Donald, that 
the Scotch custom of the reel — ” 

Sir Donald shifted his position, and got the sheriff into position 
for receiving all that Mrs. Gibson bad to say. He picked up Mina’s 
unused programme, and carried her off to a corner. She was sorry 
for the sheriff, but she greatly wanted to dance. 

“ Nov 7 ,” said the lieutenant-general, * 1 am obliged to bo at 
the Castle at two o’clock. 1 sha’n’t have mors than three hours’ 
rest— nc sleep probably— no sleep, my dear.” 

“ Why?” ' 

He tried to heave a portentous sigh, and put in a dance fcr him- 
self. ” Now, young Barclay will want that. He will ask it; he 
always asks the dances I ask, or that he thinks I’ll ask. Ccnfound 
it, madam! Let me know better than you!” He was talking to 
his wife at that moment. 

The band began again, and a mild polka was organizing itself, 
when Usher, looking bright, strong, intellectual, as if he had won 
an impossible murder case, and was being cheered all the way down 
the Mound, approached, book in hand. 

‘‘ Frank, Frank!” called out the sheriff. 

“Yes.” 

” Frank, Mrs. Gibson is waiting. You shall have Mina next. 
Mis. Gibson wants to polk.” 

‘‘ I’ll swear she has a plaster on her back,” said the lieutenant- 
general; ” she intimated that secret to somebody that told me, the 
other day.” 

” My dear Mrs. Gibson,” said Usher, making a much more sue 
cessful bow than the lord advocate, and leading her off to a polka. 

“ That young man deserves to succeed in his profession,” said 
the general. 

“ 1 think it such bad taste in a young man to dance with a dilapi- 
dated old woman,” said the wife of the general, rather older than 
Mrs. Gibson. 

” It’s plucky on both sides,” said the lord advocate. 

” It’s mere mercenariness on his side and vanity on hers,” said 
the lord advocate’s wife, as the polka emerged into the light of 
the lamps and gases. 

‘‘lam very grateful to him,” said the sheriff, ‘‘ though 1 don’t 
like it. It’s a bad example. She’s had her fling already, and has 
no right to aspire to another turn of it. The young fellow ought 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


195 


to be tabooed who does that sort of thing. Sets a bad example. 
Give me age for age.” 

‘‘ And plenty of infants,” said the lord advocate, who had none 
cf his own. 

‘‘ Is it to be whist or hcpping?” to the sheriff; ‘* for I have only 
an hour and a half to give to it. I’m going south with the eight- 
o’clock express. There will be a row in the House to morrow 
night; but — ” 

At that moment the music stopped, the polka was finished; Mrs. 
Gibson, pantiug violently, waved her sister Maria’s fourth daughter 
to her, and had a scent-bottle applied to her nose. 

“Auntie,” said that flowerlike beauty, radiant with her own 
exercise, “ I wouldn’t dance if 1 were you.” 

“ Yes; but you’re not me, Georgina, and you haven’t my will to 
make.” 

Mina and Usher went away *0 a flowery corner by themselves. 

“ Now, 1 wish to choose for myself, and All up all the dances 1 
want.” 

“ And I am to have no choice?” 

“Yes.” 

“ What?” 

“ The choice of obedience. You will acquiesce, or choose to 
acquiesce, in my choice.” 

“Good.” 

He took the programme, and fllled up dance after dance, and re- 
turned it to her with a furtive glance of triumph. 

“ You have not taken too many? Fou know how they will re- 
gard it if 1 dance all these with you. Oh, yes, indeed. Captain Bar- 
clay, 1 shall certainly keep orie dance tor you! How d’ye do, ma- 
jor? How d’ye do, Mr. How— Yes, thanks, this is a 

waltz, Mr. Usher.” 

Turn, turn, turn; turn, turn, turn; turn, turn, turn; turn, turn— 
taioo, taroo, tarool— from beneath the Sags cn the platform, ana 
off everybody scampered. The sheriff sneaked away to a side- 
room, Mrs. Gibson keeping her eye on him. and, flushed to puffi- 
ness, following him with an air of matrimonial determination. 
The rooms scampered and circled and waved and smiled and grew 
warm. It was noticed by everybody that Mina Durie seemed to 
lean on air and to dance like a disembodied soul. 


196 


CKADLE AND SPADE, 


CHAPTER XXXVlll. 

DUNBEATH HOUSE. 

Elsbeth paused when she ascended the pier and clutched Nix- 
on’s arm. The thunder-cloud had drifted overhead and was about 
to break; one or two huge drops fell at their feet, yet the sea re- 
tained its aspect of unnatural calm — the only change upcn its green 
waves was the change of color owing to the rush of chocolate water 
fiom the river. They stood for a moment at the outer parapet, and 
as he looked at her, he perceived that the whirling through the 
flood had shaken her terribly. For himself, all the terror of death 
was gone by the time the last wave had carried him from his feet; 
the sweetness of deliverance still remained with him, though they 
had hastened through narrow arches and been thrice threatened 
with a violent end. 

“ git for a moment,” he said, ‘‘ and 1 will sit beside you. You 
are rather overcome with that giddy jumping about. No wonder. 
It was touch and go for both of us.” 

Elspeth said never a word, but sat down and covered her eyes 
with her hands; her brain was reeling and her knees felt feeble. The 
rain began to threaten to descend in a deluge; Nixon felt the drops 
going through his shirt to his arms and shoulders. It made him 
wonder where his coat and waistcoat and shoes had floated to. 
Then he looked at the girl lieside him, and a great pity took posses- 
sion of him. 

‘‘ AVhy, Elspeth, it’s all over now,” he said. ” A little rest and 
you will be yourself again.” 

“lam myself,” she said, through glistening eyes, smiling tear- 
fully at him. ” See what it is, though, to be a silly woman and 
not a man. It has made me quite feeble. ’ 

” The cloud is going over the town after all. It’s going to break 
at sea,” said Nixon, looking overhead anil then over the water. 
‘‘ Now we can go to Nancy’s, for 1 hear the clamor of the towns- 
people who have been following the fate of the coble.” 

“Oh! let us get up and away before they come.” 

And the pair made a quick march of it toward Nancy’s. There 
was an old phaeton standing at her door; as they approached they 
saw Nancy, dressed in deep mourning, come out toward it, She 


CRADLE AND Sl’ADE. 197 

looked very worn and anxious, and at the si|;ht of them started 
visiDly. 

“ Pity me, sir!” she said, looking at Nixon’s jackelless and shoe- 
less condition; “ ye dinna do to be a blackguard. Go in an’ dress 
quick, and you’ll find a dinner ready tor you. 1 did not expect to 
see you here, Elspeth Gun,” 

‘‘You must lake me in again for a little, till 1 tell you, Nancy.” 

‘‘ You’ll sit up on the phaeton wi’ me — come. That’s what 
you’ll do. Up you go. Hoot, lassie, you’re stiff i’ the joints— 
stiffer than an auld wife like me. New, I’m going round to Dun- 
heath House, and you’ll stay wi’ me.” 

‘‘I’ll be the nearer Cnoc Dhu.” 

‘‘ ifes, you will that. Never mind Mr. Nixon at the window. 
Bid. him good-bye wi’ your hand. That’s the fashion.” 

And Nancy trotted out of Puddersdale along the highway to 
Dunbeath House, while the thunder-cloud tar out at sea was riven 
with red flashes, and seemed to drop darkness upon the waves. 

” Nancy, you have a great courage to drive in a storm like this.” 

‘‘ Ay, but it’s outside o’ us, Elspeth. We’ll not get any of it 
now. I’ll have to ’oe careful wi’ iny horse, though, as there’s dark- 
ness over the road more than the branches o’ the trees are making. 
That was two tats 1 saw this minute. They’re early out. But 
I’ll make it less than an hour's drive; and tell me, Elspeth, what 
brought you back to Ruddersdale so soon*/” 

‘‘ Oh, I’ll tell you some other time, Nancy, It would only bother 
you just now.” 

‘‘ It’ll no bother me a bit, Elspeth. Tell me now, and I’ll listen.” 

‘‘It was a spate on the river that took me down — me and Mr. 
Nixon together in the same coble. And oh, Nancy! don’t ask me 
to say much about it, for the coble was dancing at the mouih o’ 
death all the way, and 1 have not recovered yet.” 

Nancy reined upon the bridge over the Cranberry. She saw 
that the water had risen to the full height of the arch, and that it 
flowed violently toward the sea. 

‘‘ Bairn!” she exclaimed, ‘‘ I was out o’ my senses. It’s in your 
warm bed you should be. I’ll go back now.” 

‘‘ No, no — nearer Cnoc Dhu. My poor father and mother!” 

‘‘ Ay, to be sure,” said Nancy, picking up her whip and aston- 
ishing her well-fed horse by a sudden application to his flanks. 
Cover yourself up, girl, and I’ll find a warm corner for you at Dun- 
beath.” 


198 


CKADLE Aiq-D SPADE. 


Leslie waited oa the high bank above the island on the river till 
he saw the last wave from Cnoc Dhu coming down. Nixon was 
already well-nigh submerged. 

“ This one will drown him, ’’said the banker, clutching the butt- 
end of his rod as a mist rose before his eyes. “ He’s under— he’s 
gone,” he added, not noticing the whirling coble, and strikina into 
the moor-land with quick footstep. The mist disappeared from bis 
eyes as he walked, and everything became clear to him. 

” It’s going to rain,” he added, deliberately winding the reel of 
his rod, and noticing, with surprise, that his casting-line and fly 
had trailed on the ground and broken ofl somewhere behind him. 
‘‘I never lost a fly that way before,” he muttered. ‘‘It’s pro- 
voking. Yes, he’s gone. Rash young fool! Did he suppose that 
he could fight with me— with me, Roderick Leslie?” — looking 
gratefully at the stormy cloud over Cnoc Dhu, as if it were a tap 
which he bad turned on at will to drown a rat. ‘‘ Rash ycung 
fool!” — taking his rod to pieces and finding a cover for it in his 
basket. While he was looking for the cover he seized the grilse by 
the tail, and flinging it from him, he wiped his fingers on the grass. 

‘‘ It’s a providential circumstance,” he said; a voice behind him 
calling out, ** Is it no a clean fish, sir?” 

Leslie turned sharply round, and saw the grieve of one of the 
hill farmers. 

“ Eh?” 

‘‘You pitched it away, sir. 1 could find a use for it, since you 
canna put it back in the water again. Nine bairns, Mr. Leslie. A 
grilse is a grilse. ” 

” The grilse is good enough. There’s teen an accident on the 
river, man, and nobody to hinder it. That young man that came 
up here out o’ the south to dig has lost his life.” 

‘‘ 1 saw it with my own eyes at the cruive,” said the grieve. 

‘‘ So far down as that? And did you make nc efiorl to save the 
poor fellow? I’ve been laboring away for an hour, and risked ray 
life twice, but it was no use. Reach, I’ll find out why it was that 
you made no effort to save that poor young fellow’s life. 1 will, 
indeed. I’ll have you up for cowardice. You would come and 
ask me for a grilse, and a man drowned before your eyes!” 

‘‘ God’s sake, sir, it went down and into the cruive and oot o’ 
sight, and nothing to be seen of it. Was 1 to blame? 1 sent two 
men over to acquaint you with the fact in Ruddersdale town, not 
thinking you were here.” 

” Pick up your grilse and go home.” 


CEABLE AKT) ^PABE. 


109 


They parted, and Leslie, with rapid strides, made the best of his 
way back to Ruddersdale, where he found the men were waiting 
in the hall of his house. He did not stay at the bridge to hear what 
the gaping crowd had to say. The crowd thought he knew of the 
coble’s descent to the sea. 

“ Well, well!” he cried. 

” Twa o’ them — coble— cruive — drooned.” 

“That’ll do,” said Leslie. “The tide’ll bring the body back 
to-moriow or the next day. Go to the kitchen and get something.” 

The men shambled away to the kitchen. Leslie poured himself 
out au enormous potation of undiluted spirits, steadied himself at 
his table, looked in a mirror in his own room — 

“ It’s Providence,” he muttered; “ Or the devil,” said a still 
small voice. “ Or the devil,” he murmured, seizing a pen, and 
rvriting one frantic line — “ Kancy Harper, meet me at Dunbeath 
House betore midnight.” 

He fastened it up in an envelcpe, and, saddling a horse, rode by 
Nancy’s Inn, leaving rhe envelope with a servant at the door. Hence 
Nancy’s haste to be there and back in the security of her own house 
before midnight came. Leslie rode with wild haste where the road 
rose from the shingle margin of the water to lofty cliffs overlooking 
high islands of rods standing in the sea. 

Dunbeath House was a large structure, half castle, half mansion, 
standing in the deep dip of two edges of clifl;. A lew weather- 
beaten trees lay about it for the wind to grumble in; and the sea, 
after running up a narrow channel, assailed it from behind. It w'as 
in comfortable shelter, but the absence for so many years of an oc- 
cupant gave it a dead, untenanted look, which would have dispir- 
ited anybody with a less masterful mind than Roderick. The house 
was open to the world, save for an old crone in the kitchen; all the 
available servants were at Leslie’s lodge, and when w'ork was to be 
done they went over from the lodge tc do it and back again. 
They never stayed in it all night; the crone had the beating of the 
sea and the grumbling of the wind all to herself. She was High- 
land, so far a foreigner, having little Lowland dialect available for 
speech; so she missed company the less. 

Roderick stabled his own horse, and passed in at the open door, 
with a great treading of his toes and heels. He had covered him- 
self with mud, which wouUl not shake off; the noise he made had 
the effect of bringing the crone to his service. He walked away 
from her through a broad dark passage, carrying a feeble candle in 
his hand, till he arrived at a small snu^ room opening oft tlu li- 


^00 cjeadlt: akt) 

• 

braiy. There was a fire in it. The window had no blind ; there 
were no curtains. The white horses of the bay rolled up the beach 
within sight and hearing, and made a perpetual moving outside, 
which had a weird effect in the darkness. Leslie look some coals 
from a scuttle, and threw them on the fire; it was not cold, but 
somehow he felt that the fire was companionship. 

“ She will be here before midnight,” he reflected. ‘‘I’ll make 
the old hag swear on her bended knees to keep her mouth closed. 
I’ll — I’ll threaten her. I’ll— by Heaven! — I’ll open that window 1” 
He tried it, and after making himself purple in the face, he raised 
it with a rush and a bang, the sea-air blowing his hair over his head 
till he shivered. ” And I’ll show her the sea— the deep sea, and 
if— if she will be repentant, 1 think I’ll give her a dip, and she can 
take herself out any way she likes.” 

He could not close the window again, thouah he groaned at the 
sill for five minutes, the wind blowing about him. Meanwhile 
Nancy’s phaeton had come up. 

” Is he in?” whispered Nancy from her seat to the crone, who 
took the horse’s head and asked no questions. 

‘‘ les— in here.” 

Nancy looked back intc the phaeton, and saw that Elspeth had 
fallen sound asleep beneath a rug. She did not move. 

‘‘ God bless the lassrel She’s done up, and wants a sleep. Els- 
peth! Elspeth! we’re at Dunbeath. Come in and take your rest by 
the fire till 1 speak in turn.” 

Elspeth rubbed her eyes and sat up. 

‘‘ Am 1 going home?” she asked, half-asleep, half-awake. 

‘‘ ’Deed are ye, in good time. But ye must e’en stop on the road 
a wee. Oliver’ll no be the worse o’ a little anxiety about ye. He’ll 
value ye the more when he gets ye. ’Deed will he.” 

The crone took the horse and phaeton and disappeared; Nancy 
and Elspeth entered at the open door, and descended by some hard 
stone steps to the crone’s kitchen, which was full of smoke, but 
otherwise warm and comfortable. They sat down for a little, and 
Nancy asked the girl to go over all her experiences of the ilay. She 
did so, beginning with the rowing of the coble into Dirlot Loch 
and the coming out of it again, when there was a great and unex- 
pected rush of water, wave upon wave of it, which she was not 
able to resist, until she was obliged to bring in her oars and sit 
down till the worst should come to the worst; then Nixon appear- 
ing on the scene, and the coble righting and sweeping down to the 
sea, through danger to safety. Nancy wept, and wrung and 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


201 


clasped tbe girl’s hands, and led her to an old sota-box in a recess 
ot the kitchen, and laid her down in it, and covered her knees and 
kissed her brow. 

“ Now, dawtie, you’ll fa’ asleep again. ’Deed ay, but ye will, 
though.” 

Elspeth shut her eyes. The crone came in; the pair sat talking 
for an hour, while she slept. 

” Weaiy on me; he’ll be expectin’ me. I’ll ha’e to go up. Where 
is he?’-’ 

“ In the little room.” 

*‘ All the library?” 

” Just so.” 

” See that she’s no disturbed.” 

“Ay, ay.” 

Elspeth slept, and Nancy went wearily upstairs to ‘‘ the little 
room,” carrying a candle in her hand. She hated meeting him. 
She understood, now that Elspeth had described the rush on the 
river, why she was summoned. She saw that he was reveling in a 
death, and she was sustained with slight exultation because she 
felt she could contrarlict the fatalitj'. He was standing with his 
back to the fire when she opened the door and entered. He was 
flushed and excited, as he often enough was now. 

‘‘ Good news!” he said. 

” The baronet’s cornin’ back?” 

“Fool!” 

” Ay, ay; there’s nae fule like the auld fule. Now, Roderick 
Leslie, I’m come out here on your errand; you’ll be quick and let 
me away I’m bound to be back again this night.” 

Leslie turned with a sinister eye upon the sea, as it to think that 
it depended upon circumstances whether she ever should get back. 
“Good news,” he said, between his teeth. 

” Be quick about it, then, Mr. Leslie. What is it?” 

” He’s gone!” 

” Wha?” 

” Your Joseph Nixon is rolling among the surf at Ruddersdale 
bai.” 

I'lieie was something in Nancy’s nature which impelled her to 
see how far this bad man would go. She looked at him as she sat 
down with the slightest movement of her eyes and said nothing. 

He waited a minute. 

” God knows you’re the werse sinner of the two. fou don’t 
caro that.” And.he snapped his thumb toward her. 


202 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


Still she said nothing. 

“ Is that a’, Mr. Leslie 

“ What better do you want?” 

” And when did this happy event take place?” 

” To-day. 1 saw it — 1 saw him drown!” 

‘‘ And never held out a hand to save him, ITl warrant?” 

” It was Providence, Nancy.” 

” It was the devil, Roderick Leslie.” 

” The one’s as good as the other for my purpose. My difficulties 
are at an end. 1 can breathe now.” 

” Ah! you bad, wicked abomination before the Lord.” 

‘‘ Ha, ha, ha!” 

” Ay, laugh away — laugh, and the Lord’s hand will bear down 
upon ye yet.” 

” Hist!” he called out suddenly. ‘‘ What sound’s that?” 

Nancy started to her feet. 

There was a distant crying of an anguished feminine voice in the 
long, dark library. 

Leslie cowered at the fire-place. 

The voice approached, and Nancy’s face became white with agi- 
tation. 

“Father* father!” cried the voice in agony. 

‘ Thy sin will find thee out.” muttered Nancy. 

“ Father! lather!” And in the door-way of the dark library sud- 
denly appeared the figure of Elspeth. 

“ Back, back to where you came from!” exclaimed Leslie, husk- 
ily and shivering. He sat down and covered his face with his 
hands. Nancy slipped into the dark library, carrying Elspeth with 
her, and while the factor remained buried in agitation, they took 
their road home in the phaeton. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE DAY AFTER. 

]t was already dawn when Mina and the sherifl[ got into their 
carriage at Hopetoun Rooms. The pipers were still piping, and 
ihe trombones blowing, and the fiddlers fiddling, while they retired 
iiom the scene, and warm young ladies were still circling in the 
aims of warm young gentlemen. Mina had energy enough for any 
amount of further dancing, but she took pity upon the miserable 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


203 


aspect of her guardian, who would come to a side door ever and 
anon, with h\s pince nez fixed, look wretchedly in upon the moving 
throng, and go away again to a fresh rubter with uncongenial 
companions. 

“ Dear papa, are you very tired?” she asked, as they drove 
through Chester Street to Dean Bridge, and out on the open road- 
way toward Corstorphine. 

” Yes, rather.” 

” 1 shouldn't have danced so much.” 

‘‘ Why not, if you liked it? Do 1 look disreputatle? I’ve won 
three-and-sixpence at whist.” 

” Disreputable? No— at least, not very. No. Well, let me test 
you. Pronounce British Constitution.” 

” Don’t be stale, Mina. Bis Coshoosh, of course. 1 had hardly 
anything to eat and drink all the evening. 1 am positively starv- 
ing. What with feeding the general’s wife, and listening to the 
Parliamentary twaddle cf the lord advocate, and handing things, 
by special request, to obnoxious Mrs. Gibson, it seems that nothing 
passed down my own throat.” 

” Papa dear, what a morning!” 

They were well out on the open road, and could see the Firth of 
Forth, and the sun dijfiusing himself from tne German Ocean 
in magnificent bars of light. As they slopped at the shut gate 
of a toll-bar, and the noise of the wheels of the carriage ceased 
to fall upon their ears, a great sound of blackbirds among the trees, 
and larks above the fields, assailed them. 

‘‘They haven’t been dancing all night, poor things!” said the 
sheriff. 

” No.” said Mina, yawning incorrigibly, and suddenly going oS 
to sleep in a corner. 

” No,” said her guardian, shutting both windows, and covering 
her knees with a wrap. Mina was fast asleep when they got to 
Durie Den, and she had no difliculty in prolonging the slumber till 
far on in the day, after she went to bed. She thought that she had 
waltzed Joseph out of her heart and Frank into it. But when she 
woke up late in the day she woke with a tear on each cheek. 

“Nellie,” she exclaimed to her maid, “1 believe 1 have been 
crying in my sleep.” 


201 


CRAT)r.Ti] AKD SPABii!. 


CHAPTER XL. 

ANOTIIEll APPARITION. 

Nixon looked out of the wrindow and saw llie crowd which bad 
been on the bridge rush down to the harbor. He thought he could 
make out the figuie of^the shepherd among them; but if so, the 
shepherd must have ridden down from Cnoc Dhu, or nearer, to 
have arrived so soon on the back of the coble. Anyhow, there he 
was, with his eyes and his elbows in lugubrious proximity. The 
shepherd was crying. 

“ 1 must go down and let the poor fellow know that she is all 
light,” he reflected, as he shoved first one leg, and then another, 
into a dry pair of trousers. 

“ Poor soul! he’s gesticulating away to the ciowd. He’s show- 
ing how she got into the coble, and how it suddenly began to pour 
torrents from the mountain-top. His pantomime means that or 
nothing. Worthy shepherd! 1 wonder what his wife is feeling, if 
he is so bad. By Jove, I’m getting fatter in this north countree. 
This waistcoat was roomy, and buttoned all up and down with 
ease, when I set cut from Edinburgh. It won’t suit now. Well, 
there’s nothing like being thoroughly down and beaten; it increases 
the appetite, gives an edge to hilarity, makes death an amusement. 
It positively seemed to me on that river, a sort of joke— especially 
the narrow escapes at the bridges. Yes— an amusement. 1 sup- 
pose it’s because death at the other side of difficulty would be so soft 
and snug and quiet. Meanwhile, laugh and grow fat. Here’s the 
shepherd coming in. 1 must go down and see him. He wants 
consolation.” 

Nixon went down-stairs, and saw Oliver Gun timidly approach- 
ing the bar by himself. 

” Mr. Gun, how d’ye do?’' 

Mr. Gun started and wiped his red eyes. 

‘‘This is a sad day for me and my wife,” he said, following 
Nixon into the little dining-room, which had now beccme his own 
through use and wont. 

” 1 know What you mean.” 

*' She’s gone, sir— goneT God knows.” And the shepherd blab- 
bered. ‘'I’ll be turned out. He’ll send me and mine oS the 
mountain. Mr. Nixon, sir, speak a good word for us.’ 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


205 


Nixon was astonished. 

This exquisite selfishness, which accepted the drowning of a 
daughter with seeming philosophy and the personal consequences 
with h3’SteTics, rather staggered him. He believed in the simp icily 
of these mountain people. He thouirht they were less tainted with 
the rot of competitive selfishness than people in crowded centers 
lushing for a larger or a smaller meal. 

“ Why,” he said, ” what should ho turn you off the mountain 
for?” 

The shepherd only wiped his eyes the more. 

” Besides,” exclaimed Nixon abruptly, ” youi claughlcr is safe. 
She was not drowned. She was here a little ago, and, 1 believe, 
drove out with Mrs. Harpei— where, 1 can't tell you, but certainly 
in absolute safety. 1 came down in the coble with her, and we 
both landed at the pier together.” 

The shepheid sat down, removed his hat, and said a blessing as 
long as the cooling ones he used 07er his meals, and far more fer* 
vid. 

” A.nd the coble’s safe too, 1 think you said?” 

” Yes, quite safe— sound from stem to stern. You can row her 
up to Dirlot the first fine day. She’s moored at the harbor now.” 

‘‘ The Lord be praised!’' 

” For the coble or for youi daughter?” 

‘‘For both, sir.” 

” You must excuse me, Mr. Gun, if I say that you seem to take 
rathei more interest in the fate of the boat than of the gin, and in 
your own prospects than in either.” 

The shepherd looked at him keenly. 

•‘You would overhear my reflections,” he said. 

‘‘ Yes, and they seemed most, as 1 say, to concern the unfortu- 
nate circumstance of yourself and wife being likely to be turned 
oft the mountain if Elspelb happened to be drowned. 1 gave you 
more credit for disinterestedness. Why should you think of your- 
self first? 1 should have supposed that you would have given your 
life for her. Such a daughter! So fair, so truthful, so deal and 
limpid in her character!” 

‘‘ You shouldn’t judge a person from the moments of his agony, 
Mr. Nixon.” 

‘‘ Well, your agony seemed all personal to yourself. That’s 
what makes it surprising to me. Besides, moments of agony bring 
out surprising truths sometimes.” 

*• I’m nc so sure o’ that. 1 ken a poor hill-farmer, terribly afflicted 


206 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


with the colic; and be roars cut falsehood after falsehood in the 
midst of his pain. And 1 Uen a poor shepberd-body who drinks, 
and he’s a God-fearing man under other circumstances; but then 
he lies and blasphemes so that nobody dare stand by him.” 

“ In vino writas, shepherd. ” 

1 dinna Ken your Gaelic at all, sir, but yon’s the truth. I'll 
away and meet my poor wife. It's her that’ll feel it most. Elspeth 
will know the way back by herself.” 

” No doubt.” 

Ihey parted, 'and Nixon, without having offered him any refresh- 
ment, so disgusted was he by his apparent selfishness, sat down to a 
fair meal on his own account. But his delivery from death had 
shaken him mere than he cared to confess to himself. He was too 
strong tor prostration, and the sight of Elspeth in danger, all down 
the stream, had been a kind of resuscitating wine to him. The 
effects of it were not yet removed. He felt as some serious people 
do at funerals, inclined to laugh, or at any rate to smile. He had 
been striving to smile in the moments of their deepest danger. As 
yet, the reaction had not set in; reactions rarely overtook him 
under any strain of feeling or action. 

” Kirsty,” he said to the maid who served him, ‘‘ did Mrs. 
Harper say when she would be back?” 

Yes, sir.” 

When?” 

*‘ 1 wasn’t to sit up, sir.” 

“But when?” 

” 1 was to go to my bed, sir, without waiting.” 

‘‘ When did she say she would be back?” 

” 1 was e’en to shut the inner door; not to bar it, but to shut it; 
and she would find her way in at any hour.” 

“When did she say she would be back?” 

“ Will 1 remove the things,, sir?” 

“ Is Miss Gun coming back with her?” 

“ Pooh! Miss Gunl” 

“ Pooh?” 

“ 1 said nothing, sir.” 

“No, 1 know you didn’t; but 1 asked you when Mrs. Harper 
intended to return.” 

“ She may go further than she supposes, sir.” 

“ But what did she suppose when she left this house?” 

“ Oh, well, maybe as far as Dunbeath House; but she may go to 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


207 


Giley. ]Ve Known her go lo Giley. She doesn't always say; but 1 
was to shut the inner door, not to bar it.” 

” Then the tact is, Kirsty, you know nothing about where your 
mistress has gone to or when she will be back.” 

” Sir?” 

‘‘ You don’t know where sht’s gone. 1 must get my bill and see 
how it stands. There’s a visible diminution ot esteem among the 
underlings. The day’s not far distant w’hen 1 must accept that 
offer of £1000 for a voyage to Australia. In these latitudes it is 
criminal to the last degree to have a slender purse.” 

He lit his pipe and sauntered out. There was a peculiar effect 
in the evening. It felt warm and thundery; yet it was light over- 
head, with blue sky, though lowering and stormy toward the sea. 
Ihe storm which had passed over Cnoc Dhu was hard at work in 
the horizon. He sauntered on toward Dunbeath House, with no 
visible purpose. It occurred to him that he would like to see Els- 
peth again, and say ” good bye ” to her, and look into her face fcr 
a glance of gratitude in return for the service he had done her. For 
the benefit had been mutual. She had saved him; he had saved 
her. Beyond the Cranberry Burn, however, he turned aside to avoid 
the dripping of a black cloud, and when it passed he automatically 
walked toward the diggings. They were some miles inland, but he 
w'as roused by a shot from his reverie, and, looking, saw Armstrong 
run forward for a hare which he had brought to the ground dead. 

‘‘ Hillo!” said Armstrong; ‘‘ coming in to dig, after all?” 

‘‘No, not yet. Have you got leave lo shoot out ot season?” 
” Close-time, isn’t it?” 

” Close-time’s a prejudice. A hare’s as good now as any other 
time. Y’ou may thank your stars you didn’t get a bullet inside 
you. You’re cruelly like a gamekeeper. -And 1 should have shot 
the gamekeeper.” 

‘‘Armstrong, tell me. You came in with a story one night to 
Nancy’s about a portrait in Dunbeath House, and a man at Red 
Gully. Are you prepared to say the portrait and the man are one 
and the same?” 

‘‘ 1 believe so.” 

‘‘ Is that all?” 

‘‘ Well, you see, I’m fetching my supper just now, and haven’t 
got nothing inside me, and my convictions are naturally weaker 
than they were at the fireside. But, 1 say, we’re having high old 
times, as they say over the seas, at the diggings. Little lo get for 
spade-work, but plenty to eat and drink. A gauger has joined the 


208 


CllADLE AND SPADE. 


community, and he knows so little about digging that he thinks a 
still is a crushing machine, and that we want heaps of barley to 
wash out the gold.'’ 

“ Yes, you look as if you — Here’s a gamekeeper. Good-night. 
1 came up this way by mistake.” ' 

He turned down on the Dunbeath road, and did not hear the 
wheels of Nancy’s phaeton in tne darkness which hail overcast sea 
and shore. He went straight forward to the house. It was pitch 
dark by the time he reached the little sequestered valley, and dimly 
saw through the trees the lowering front of Dunbeath House. No 
light burned in it as he approached. It was visible only by 
a darker shoulder of gloom against the changing darkness of 
the sea behind it. A dog barked as he approached and made a 
weird sound with his chain, then stopped, and seemed to retire to 
an invisible kennel. He wandered, without knowledge of his 
whereabouts, from shingle walks to scft beds cf herbage, nearing 
the sea, as he knew from the gathering roar cf waves. He present- 
ly knew it by a stunning blow upon his head and the spray of in- 
coming waves. He had stumbled over a . parapet, and landed on 
his head among shingle. For a moment he sat, involuntarily rub- 
bing his scalp; not giddy or ill, but irritated with the pain of the 
fall, and feeling as if it mattered little whether the hurrying of the 
breakers down below him became so strong as to overwhelm him 
and carry him back. Then he rose and turned upon the deceptive 
parapet, and became conscious of a light and an open window — a 
clear, strong light, through vrhich he saw the opposite walls of the 
room. He went toward it, and clambering up reached the level of 
the sill. It was rather an uncertain tooting. One leg was in the 
air. He held only by the toes of his right foot and two fingers cf 
his left hand. He had to twist to see in. But he did get abreast 
of the sill and stared in. A face at the fire stared out — Leslie’s 
face, at first with an expression of maniacal surprise, then with a 
deep look of horror and terror. NiXon said something as he hoisted 
liimself higher up at the parapet, to avoid the wet of an incc miug 
wave; but the sound of his voice was blown away on the wind. 

‘‘Back, back!’' shouted Leslie, rising to his full height at the 
fire-place. ‘‘ Once is. enough. No, no, no! 1 saw you drown. 1 
saw you pass. Your corpse, your dead, inanimate body, is rolling 
at the mouth of the Radderl” 

At that moment Nixon’s loot slipped, and he went down ten 
feet, among the shingle. This time he did not land on his head. 
He fell on a toot and a knee, and instantly clambered back again 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


M) 

in time to escape the force of an assailing wave, though he got all 
the spray. He raised himself to the sill, and tumbled in at the 
window. Leslie was gone; he had fled through an open library 
door apparently. Nixon sat down in his chair, and with his toot 
kicked at a curl of sheepskin. The factor had been trying to light 
his pipe with it, for the end was charred arrd curled. 

“Found!'* said Nixon. “Found at last! ‘ And— tenement. 
Bearing — the — name —of— Joseph — Nixon. (Signed) Thomas Duu- 
beath, Bart.’ God! He is my father. 1 am home. 1 have been 
guided here by the Unseen. 1 am the baronet’s heir. ‘ Bearing — 
the— name— of— Joseph— Nixon. (Signed.) ’ Now we can make 
it all out.” 

At that moment a thin withered hand descended behind him, and 
hastily sualched the scroll. Ho turned, and saw a hag vanishing 
into the darkness of the library. 


CHAPTEK XLI. 

A LITTLE PICNIC. 

“ Hillo! Mr. Leslie. You here? When did you come? What 
has brought you so far south? Sit down— sit down. I’m very 
glad to see you — very glad indeed. Ton’ll excuse me for the next 
ten minutes; then I’m done. C^uite done and over, and able to 
say, How d’ye do? and where are you going to? and — ” 

It was the sheriff who was speaking, in the room in the writer’s 
office which he occupied at some portion of nearly every day. It 
was the factor of Buddersdale who had been shown in to him. The 
former resumed the persual of a document; the latter sat down 
with a subdued look about him which was very unlike his demeanor 
on his own ground. Looking at him, it was not difficult to tell 
that anxiety was preying at his heart. His mouth was twisted, and 
the crows’ feet about his eyes seemed to have grown more dense. 
His eyes were restless, and moved in his head as if a force over 
which he had no control were pulling them from right to left. It 
seemed as if a shade of gray had come into the color of his hair, 
and altogether he was neither masterful nor arrogant. He might 
have been a poor man, down at heel, soliciting a little influence for 
his offspring, or a person with a subscription-list anxious for a 
dole. He was apologetic, quiet, unebtrusive, and as the sheriff 
turned over the pages of the document in front of him there was 


210 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


no other noise in the room. A large fly at the window pane, who 
could not understand the meaning of its thwarted efforts to escape 
into space, made the only audible sound. 

“ 'Well, Leslie, I’m very glad to see you,'” said the sheriff, turn- 
ing cn him suddenly, and tossing the document fioni him with 
more zest than he showed in reading it. ‘‘How is Ruddersdale? 
Still talking and writing, 1 see, about precious metal. 1 suppose 
y-'U are less sanguine than people at a distance. By the way, do 
you know of a friend of mine up there — Mr. Kixon?” 

Leslie gasped and fumbled with his hat. 

” 1 thought, sheriff, 1 would come in and pay my respects to 
you. I’m not tc be here long, but 1 couldn’t be here and not see 
you. The fad is I’m troubled with a nervous feeling about the ap- 
proach of death.” 

‘‘ IS'onsense, man,” said Sheriff Duiie, seeing that Leslie looked 
decidedly ill. ‘‘ Nonsense; 1 never remember you to look so well. 
All you want is a change. 1 tell you what. I’m going out to 
Craigmillar to a little picnic. Come along with me. We’ll drive 
round by the Baird Hills, and I’ll be bound to say that by the time 
we come back, you won’t have a single ache— not one. Craigmil- 
lar, you know, is one of the seats of that beautiful hussy. Queen 
Mary, ot immortal memory, and I’m living in that period just now. 
The day is fine: what more do you want?” 

” I’m much obliged to you, sir. 1 think — yes, 1 think 1 might 
do worse than go.’’ 

“ 1 think you might. Here comes my curricle. Ha^e you ever 
been to the Braid Hills? Noble view of our old city from the road 
behind Swan’s farm. My friend Northern goes there sometimes to 
recruit his health. A great man Northern. Have you heard him? 
No? Ought to, the next time he is here. Indeed you ought. 
Every one, with a feeling for manners, ought to hear Northern. 
Well, you will go, you say. Here, Mr. Ross, take this round to 
Giant and Murray; 1 have marked the points. It is only a small 
question of titles— -of no importance. Desirable property, though. 

” Yery, very much so indeed. Makes the human teeth water. 
Like America before the Emancipation Act was passed— a state of 
slavery that is, eh? Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Leslie. A ou don't see it. 
Well, two men are seldom facetious at the same time and the joke 
is not very rich. Come along.” 

Obviously the sheriff liked the prospect of his picnic as a boy 
likes a holiday. He also enjoyed the feeling that he was able to 
threw up a dazzling coruscation of witty remarks at a moment’s 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


m 


notice, to a friend from the country. The Boeotian simplicity of 
Ruddersdale admitted of no light play of wits one with another, 
thought the sheriff; everything was gray, somber, relative tc the 
primary wants of life. In the eapiial it was different —the capital, 
with all its traditions of literary society, he, the sheriff, being one 
of the fe\\ torch-bearers who still remained to hind on books and 
jokes to futurity. 

“ 1 expect,” he resumed, as his carriage, open to the air, rolled 
uphill, toward the Morningside Asylum, and beyond. “ 1 expect 
Mina and her friends have got on before. It is none of my devis- 
ing — the picnic; but an archaeologist — Mr. Bang, the Darwin ot 
bangles and bracelets and the contents of old tumuli — he is living 
with me just now, and he is particularly anxious to see a corner of 
Craigniillar where the bones of an infant were discovered, built 
into the wall. Mr. Bang has some theory of tutelar deities' in con- 
nection with the phenomenon. For my own part, 1 consider the 
infant’s bones simple enough without any theory. In my time, 
Mr. Leslie, a gibbet would bo the last word to that discovery. Eh?” 

They were passing Morningside at the time; Leslie looked inlo 
the open gate, and saw maniacs wandering in the grounds, some 
of them climbing ropes to the sky; others considering themselves 
porcelain and china, which might break at a moment’s notice; 
others expounding the philosophy of life which had iuduccd 
friends to place them where they were. 

‘‘ That’s the mad-house,” said Leslie, as they rolled past it into 
the road between clover fields. 

” Tes,” said the sheriff. 

‘‘We have not a few facile and fatuous persons among us at 
Ruddersdale.” 

‘‘ They abound.” 

” But there are more at certain places than at others.” 

** The facile and fatuous are everywhere. 1 don’t believe much 
in madness myself, except in the case of actual, positive intention 
to shed blood in a murderous sense.” 

Leslie moved uneasily, and said — 

‘‘ No doubt. ” 

‘‘ Yes, but 1 can’t get other people to follow me in that view. 
They think that every man or woman who doesn’t rise in the morn- 
ing at seven, breakfast at eight, begin duties at nine, keep at them 
more or less all day till dinner-time, is fit for Morningside. Well, 
1 say, all honor to routine, all honor to the respectability which is 
the outcome of centuries; but let us have a little variety, and don't 


212 CRADLE AKD BPADE. 

let us say that because a man or woman doesn’t get up at seven, 
broakiast at eight, and work on till the end of the day, that there- 
fore he or she is mad and hL lor that gloomy house we have just 
passed.” 

” To be sure; 1 agree with you, sherift.” 

They dipped into the hollow of the road, and presently were skirt- 
ing the base of the whin-covered hills on their way toward Liberlou. 

‘‘ Craigmillar lies beyond Liberlou yonder.” 

” Ay, yonder— 1 see.” 

‘‘ But, man, you’re so used to mountains that you have no en- 
thusiasm tor what we can show you. What d’ye say to that now 
tor a hill?” 

” Arthur’s Seat?” 

” Yes.” 

” It’s very good to be so near a city, but by itself it’s not much 
of a mountain, sheriil. 31y sheep would stare at you it you put 
them on to that, and made them suppose they were mountaineer- 
ing?” 

” To me, now, it looks higher than Cnoc Dhu. Of course it’s 
all a question cf relations. Arthur’s Beat has no neighbors, and 
without something: to compare with it, it naturally gains in lati- 
tude. What do you think of our Braid Hills?” 

‘ Our moles could do as well up yonder.” 

1 believe 3mu’re determined to admire nothing but our streets 
and squares. Kow, here’s Liberton, and yonder’s the tower of 
Craigmillar. Ah! that wench Queen Mary! What stone and lime 
has she not sanctified! Bhe has turned miserable keeps and dun- 
geons, broken chambers and thick walls, into the gossamer of 
poetry, east and west, nerth and south, wherever she set a footstep. 
But 1 resist her influence, Mr. fjeislie; 1 resist it on historical 
grounds. 1 And that there is no doubt she blew up her husband in 
favor of that tiger of Bothwcll — no doubt about it whatever; and 
I’m not going to sacrifice justice for her fine shoulders and her 
French queendom.” 

” It is some time since 1 read about her,” said Leslie; ” but I 
altvajs regarded her marriage with the Spaniard, and her desire to 
make everything Spanish and Catholic, as a danger to the State, 
quite intolerable, and one that the leaders of the Protestant cause 
had a right to resist.” 

” Perhaps you’re mixing up English and Scotch history,” said 
the sheriff; and the men relapsed into silence as the carriage rolleil 
toward the castle. 


OHADLE A KB SPADE. 


m 

“ Yes, there they are. They have all arrived before us. Bang 
will have been from top to bottom of it before we have come in. 
AYell, he is a little diffuse, and we are none the worse of missing 
his first enthusiasm. \cu have met Miss Duiie, Mr. Leslie? You 
an see her standing at the wall. Very nice she looks, too, at the 
side of that old elm and the dun cow at the other side of it, both of 
them looking over. G will stop here. Ilillo, Mina! Who have 
you all got out besides Bang, and the Finlay girls, and the Ber- 
trams? You know Mr. Leslie of EuddersdaJe? Mr Leslie, Miss 
Durie,. I^ow we are down, 1 think we can climb the wall.” 

Leslie was surprised that the sheriff should do anything so un- 
dignified as scramble over a lichen-covered wall; however, he fol- 
lowed suit, contracting a very purple hue in his face and neck as 
he did so. The sheriff tumbled over into a grass field, and seeing 
Bang at the foot of the castle wall, using his right arm vehemently 
as he explained the archaeology of the place to a goodly group of 
ladies, he advanced upon them, having an eye on a table-cloth, 
wiiere there were numerous bottles and plates, and pasties and tarts, 
and sauces and salads, jostling each other, 

Mina was detained for a little at the tree with Leslie, tie was 
either ill or shy, for he did not advance toward the group with any 
great show of cordiality, 

‘‘ And you are frcm Ruddersdale?” said Mina. 

” 1 am. Miss Durie.” 

“ 1 have been once or twice there for short periods. 1 like it 
much.” 

” It's a very pleasant place.” 

‘‘There is not so much variety about it, of course, as about a 
city like Edinburgh. You must have hard work getting through 
your long evenings.” 

‘‘ Humph!” groaned Leslie. 

” You know 1 belong to, and positively am an inhabitant of, 
Ruddersdale. You may remember me as quite a little girl. It’s 
an old story, but interesting to me.” 

‘‘ 1 believe so.” 

*‘ And now, Mr. Leslie, before we reach the luncheon party, tell 
me something that 1 wish to ask you.” 

lie looked at her doubtfully and with an air of distraction. 

‘‘ It is nothing very serious. Only there is one in Ruddersdaie 1 
used to know, who used to know me, one of the name of Nfxon, 
who went there to search for foolish gold; and he is quite well do. 
think? Quick nowq only one word.” 


214 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


Leslie did uot speak ; he only stared vacantly. 

“ Perhaps, then, you do not know him.” 

” Am 1 always to be met face to face with that man?” murmured 
Leslie. ” That’s Mr.— Mr.— I forget his name new— Mr. Usher, 
isn’t it, standing at the sherifT’s elbow? An able man. 1 will go 
forward to him, miss, if you please.” 

” Oh, Mina,” said Gerty Finlay, ” I opened the tin, and instead 
of lobsters, do you know what 1 found in it?” 

‘‘No, dear,” said Mina wearily. 

” Pilchards.” - 

” They will do very well.” 

” Mina, what are you thinking of, to suppose that pilchards can 
make a salad?” 


CHAPTER XLll. 

PUSS IN THE CORNEB. 

Mina turned back to the tree and leaned at the lichen-covered 
wall. She looked into the roadway, a leafy nook of lam unbroken 
by the hoof of a horse or the wheel of a cart. The branches of the 
lime spread over it, making a grateful shadow, the invisible hum- 
ming of bees suggested an unseen paradise of insect labor going 
on all round about her, and making music at its w<irk. A linnet 
chuckled on the topmost thorn of a thistle which grew cut of an 
opposite hedge, other hard-working birds from neighboring trees 
flew dov n intc the shadows and picked up indiscernible meals from 
among the grassy edge of the way. A dragon-fly, gorgeous in his 
new summer apparel, flew heavily by, and was followed by a 
couple of butterflies eager to outstrip each other in their airy flight 
toward a broad glint of sunshine further down the lane. Mina 
sighed as she looked and heard behind her shouts of talk in which 
she had no part. The reaction had come to her which usually ar- 
rives on the back cf excessive fatigue in the ball-room. She was 
sorry, besides, that she had been betrayed into asking questions 
about Nixon., "Was she not done with Nixon? Had she not made 
up her mind that he no more existed for her? Why should she 
seize the first opportunity to put questions to one whom she had 
never met before? It was rude and indelicate! And she stood, 
listening to the low hum of the insect workers, until she fell into 
a dream in which she gradually forgot everything. But her mind 
returned upon those old days in which she had wandered to the 


CRADLE AJ^D SPADE. 


215 


tree cn Corstorniue Hill, and she felt the invisible presence of 
Nixon in spite of herselt. 

“ Yes,” said a voice. ” it is exquisite.” 

It was .Usher’s, He had wandered over beside her, suspecting 
that the sight of Leslie would raise visions of the enemy. 

” Now if a man had lime to spare from more-important work he 
might come out here and write poetry-— or read it at least.” 

‘‘It is an enchanting little roadway. Don’t speak, Mr. Usher, 
but listen.” 

” les, 1 hear them— the bees. Hist! There are half a dozen of 
them wheeling overhead. You’d better come out of that.” 

” I don’t mind them in the least. 1 like them. They never sting 
me. If you make rapid movements of panic like that, of course 
they will pursue you.” 

Mina sicod, and Usher, feeling a nervous dread of being stung, 
cautiously leaned on the wall and looked into her face. 

” Yes, after all, the sweetness of summer is in it,” he resumed. 
She sighed, turned on her elbow, and saw into his eyes that they 
revealed for her an attachment which, at that moment, she did not 
feel she reciprocated. 

” Mina,” he went on softly, " before we go back to the group 
who are laughing behind us, and from whom we may net separate 
ourselves long without being observed and recalled — Mina, 1 want 
you to grant me a favor.” 

** Is it a very heavy favor.” 

‘‘ ll is the one which would lay me under deeper obligations to 
you than you know.” 

“What is it?” 

” 1 want you to promise yourself away.” 

“ To — 1 don’t quite understand?” 

“ To promise yourself away.” 

” Am 1 my own to give? You indeed make a large demand.” 

” Softly, Mina; don’t turn and go away with a misunderstand- 
ing at your heart. There is here with us to day a man from Rud- 
dersdale wno knows Joseph Nixon, who understands why it is that 
1 should have transferred my aflection frinn my former friend until 
it has become positive enmity; who has seen him as 1 have.” 

” Enough, enough,” said the girl. “ Don’t let us revive it. VVe 
are here to be cheerful. Is this a cheering subject? Come, they 
are caliing us to return. 1 hear papa’s voice and Gerty’s, and in- 
deed all of them.” 

Usher took his arm oft the lichened dike, and presented a ccunte- 


210 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


nance to Ihe waiting picnic which looked so cheerfully indifferent 
that they imagined he must have "been talking pilchard or lobster 
salad to Mina. 

Mina’s was serious and downcast, but she recovered a deceptive 
air of cheerfulness before they came to the rina seated round the 
outspread table-cloth. 

“ They tell me I’ve been late,” called out Sheriff Durie, ‘‘and 
you’re making amends tor it, Mina, by postponing the banquet 
indefinitely.” 

‘‘ Ah,” said Mrs. Finlay, who squatted at the most important cor- 
ner of the cloth, presiding majestically over a pie, with irnife and 
fork in hand. “Ah, sheriff, when two pair of eyes are lookini; 
over a wall into the same lane at the same time, we know what to 
expect.” 

“ Oh, ma,” said Gerty. 

1 wish, my dear,” said Gerty ’s ma, ” that you would learn to 
extend the range of j^our conversation. Your one appeal tome tires 
me a little, and 1 know it does Mr. Sang.” 

” Mr. Bang, ma.” 

‘‘ Well, Mr. Whang, then. 1 know it tires Mr. Whang.” 

‘ Mr. Bang, ma.” 

” Goodness gracious, Gerty, Mr. Pang is utterly tired of your 
^ oh ma!’ and, as 1 say, you should learn something from Mina. 
Mina speaks like a book. Sheriff, allow me.” 

” By all means, Mrs. Jb inlay. You give pie away with a six- 
teenth century munificence which goes well with these castle walls 
under which we are sitting.” 

” Ah, 1 suppose it was all pie in those days, and no poverty. ’ 

” Oh, 1 demur to that,’ said Bang. ” If you will allow me five 
minutes to think about it, 1 will recount to you the rate of wages 
which were current, as 1 know from the chamberlain’s accounts, 
at the very period when pies must have flourished most in the 
homes of the English aristocracy. Alas! sheriff, the people got the 
crust, the aristocracy got the inside.” 

” Mr. Bang, we are all Whigs here,” said Usher, ‘‘ and think it 
is the best cf possible worlds to live in, and we don’t care for docu- 
ments concerning the past. Do we now, Mr. Leslie?” 

Leslie was trying to accommodate himself to the undignified 
position in which he found himself. At Ruddersdale nobody had 
found him on the grass at any period of his life since early boyhood. 
It was a loss of dignity which he could not dare to incur there. 
And he would not have incurred it had he not seen the sheriff of 


CRADLE AND SPADE, 


217 


his county in a homely posture, eating pie. “What the sheriff did 
he might do— indeed must do. Therefore he squatted with the rest 
under the darkening shadows of the tree which Mrs. Finlay had 
selected, and made a great effort to look a? if he always occuui“d 
that position at home. 

“ 1 think,” he said, in reply to Usher, ‘‘ that people are alw\ays 
fed in proportion to the work they do. It’s all a question of work. 
Idle men starve; busy men feed.” 

” That’s all you know,” said Bessie Finlay. 

“Bessie!” saiil her mother, who remembered that liCslie was 
an eliiiiblo widower, and who, lor her ow'ii part, was a little tiled 
of having daughters on her hand. 

“ Yes, mal” 

“ You shouldn’t be too serious.” 

“Thai’s all you know,” pursued Bessie. “1 know one idle 
man, the idlest man 1 ever knew of— a great fat fellow, with 
red whiskers and a tallowy countenance— who comes to our house 
to sing songs sometimes, and who simpers them as if he were an 
angel and loved the human race; he hasn’t done a stroke of work 
for ten years, and he doesn’t starve. 1 know another man in pa s 
office at Leith— a dark, handsome, lovable fellow with a mustache, 
as thin as a razor who labors from morning to night. He never 
has a meal to eat.” 

“ Then he must be an egregious ass,” said Bessie’s roa, scoop- 
ing cut the contents of the pie until they were quite finished and 
handed about. 

Everybody eat heartily, Leslie included, and when they had al- 
most finished everything on the cloth, and a comely woman with a 
key and a white apron came through a gate and said, “ Please, 
ma’am, the curds and cream are concing,” and Mrs. Finlay breathed 
heavily and said, “ 1 don’t know where we’ie to put them,” there 
was a little murmur of wonder. 

“ Come away with theiu, my good woman,” said the sheriff, 
who was prepared to receive everything as a gift of the gods. 

And presently an enormous tureen, with curds moving like a 
tide inside, was laid down in front of Mrs. Finlay, and a vast 
bowl of immovable cream was set at- the flank of it. The comely 
woman with the apron and the key stood behind Mrs. Finlay, pre 
pared to hand round her preparation. 

“ Food for the Olympians,” said Bang, gazing vacantly at the 

tlisff* . . 

“ Whom do we owe it to, Mrs.?” asked Ushei, locking signiu- 


218 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


cantly id the directicn of a dun cow which had grazed nearer toward 
them. 

“ Ay, she had a hand in it,” said the woman, cheerily, helping 
the sheriff in a willow-pattern plate. ‘‘ Do you find them to your 
mind, sir?” 

” ] should think so. Mina, get the recipe for this from Mrs.” 

“ It’s naething but a coo’s stomach dried in the roof o’ the hoose 
gives the milk a wee bit curdle.” 

” Take that down, Mina.” 

” Oh, papa, 1 knew that when 1 was an infant.” 

“ A funny thing I never see curds at my table, then.” 

” No, no, thank yel” expostulated Leslie heartily. ‘‘ 1 know 
them of old. They don't agree with me.” 

The young ladies bent over their plates, and absorbed their curds 
and cream with a dexterous quiet, which looked as if they were 
taking nothing, and declined unanimously anything out of a case- 
bottle to correct the effects. 

An open-air meal, under the shadow of a tree, if it be sufficiently 
simple, is always better than ore in a room. The absence of re- 
straint gives the appetite fair play, and everybody feels it to be an 
old-fashioned duty to eat a great deal. It was so this afternoon, 
and when Bang, accompanied by Leslie, Usher, and the sheriff, 
stood under an old wall, handing each other cigar-cases, the ladies 
still sat under the tree, noisily putting dishes together and helping 
the attendants ostentatiously, laughing with unwonted satiety. 

‘‘ 1 wonder when they will ccme back,” said Gerty Finlay. 

“Gerty,” said her mother, ‘‘1 have some hope of you after 
that. It’s the most original remark 1 ever heard you make. Mina, 
my dear, don’t you think that nice Mr. Leslie would suit Gerty?” 

” Oh, mai:’ 

” There you go again.” 

“No wonder.” 

By and by the men strolled down the field tc them, and the 
sheriff, with his cigar half smoked, observed that it was an age 
since he played puss-in-lhe-corner. Nothing but puss-in-the-cornei 
would satisfy him. Did Mrs. Finlay know puss-ln-the-corner? 
Yes! All right, let everybody run to a tree, and the individual 
who was left out was puss, until he or she caught somebody running 
from one tree to another. 

” Now, off we go!” 

And off everybody rushed, except Bang and Leslie, to find a 
tree; Bang being too scholarly, and Leslie too dignified to join in 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


219 


the sport. Mina was puss in the first place, but she very soon 
caught Mrs„ Finlay making with her hand upon her heart, to a 
neighboring tree, when “ puss ” was shouted. 

“ Vm far too ancient to be a puss. I’ll never catch anybody. 
Gerty, for goodness’ sake, come and be puss.” 

“ Oh no, no!” exclaimed a chorus of voices. 

” Every man his own cat,” said Esher. 

‘‘A\hich, 1 suppose, includes the ladies,” added the sherifi, 
whose tree was a long way off from its neighbor, and seemed to 
present a fine opportunity for puss intercepting him on the way. 

“ Very well, I’m my own tabby. And I’ve got claws. Puss!” 

Mina rushed from her tree to Gerty, Gerty ran to take up the po- 
sition occupied by the sheriff, Bessie seeing no danger, walked to 
Usher’s, Usher made for Gerty ’s, while Mrs Finlay, abandoning 
her pretensions to extreme age and fatigue, descended upon Usher’s 
tree, and held it without difficulty. And so the game proceeded 
for a full hour until handkerchiefs were waving for the sake of 
coolness, and chests were heaving, and everybody had been puss at 
least twdce in turn. 

” Now, Bang, tell us all you know about Queen Maiy,” said 
the sheriff, throwing himself on his back under the luncheon 
tree. ‘‘We will allow you half an hour.” 

Many of the group sat down around him, and Bang began his 
recital. But Mina slipped away, and shortly Usher followed her, 
and before the half-hour was done, they were looking down from 
high parapets upon the halt dozing company. 

‘‘ Mina.” Usher was urging. ” it is lime now. It is time that you 
should say something to me to lead me to hope.” 

‘‘ T must be sure of his treachery.” 

” V/hat better assurance do you want than 1 have given you?” 

‘‘ The assurance in my own heart that it is possible I can love 
another. 1 have not felt it yet. You do not understand.” 

” 1 can only understand that no woman exists for me in the 
w'orld but you.” 

Mina leant on the parapet and looked down into the branches of 
the trees. She could count the eggs of the rooks in some of the 
vacant nests. She heard Bang drcning away, and she saw the 
sheriff’s face covered with a handkeichief, and his arras peacefully 
folded. 

•* Give me time,” she said. 

‘‘ How long must 1 wait?” 

‘‘ I do not know.” 


CEADLE AND SPADE,’ 


CHAPTER XLlll, 

JOINING THE DIGGERS. 

Nixon felt the scroll snatched from him, saw the hand that 
picked it out of hia own, and turning, followed the vanishing 
figure of the hag inta (he gloom of the library. He was not given to 
belief in supernatural visitations; he felt that he was being deprived 
of an important clew to his own identity; he rose, by swift instinct, 
and rushed into the library. But all was blacli there; he groped to 
light and left, and found his head confronted by door-w^ays and 
shelves, and no exit possible for him. The hag had escaped, scroll 
and all; and standing for a moment, he was aware only of the long 
monotone of the sea, which reached him through the open window 
beyond the doorway through which he had just passed. 

“Found and lost again,” he murmured, returning slowly from 
the gloom to the chamber with the open window. He sat down, 
and mechanically went over the details of the brief half hour in 
wliicli so much had happened. Yes, there was no doubt about it. 
He had picked up what he knew tc be a part of that document, 
and was reading it, w'hen the deft hand from above snatched it 
away and made an end of his reverie. IV ell, what of that? Did 
it alter his position? Not a whit. It he were the heir, guided 
by the magnetism of unseen forces to the house of his anceslcrs, 
the same power would abide by him. He would recover the 
snatched fragment somehow. He would get at his own. The 
home of his ancestors! He carried the tlickeiing light from the 
room with the open window into the libiiiry. How the dust had 
settled everywhere! the clean white dust of the sand of the sea — 
but no outlet. Books, books everyw'hcre; no door- way; no exit. 
Alter all, he thought, was there more than he had di earned of in his 
philosopliy? Was he the victim of his own eyes? Had he seen 
what he thought he saw? He went back to the chamber with the 
open window and sat down, and the breeze of the sea camm to him 
and he began to feel, with its freshening coolness, that the events 
of the day might have disturbed his brain. To be so neai death 
and not to- feel peiturbed was impossible. Perhaps it was all a 
vision. He sat and began to convince himself that indeed he had 
been victimized when he heard heavy footsteps along the outci cor* 
fidor, 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


2^1 


“ Oh, yes, he’s there, thief and robber, thief and robber that 
he is.” 

“ He's there, is he?” 

*‘ He is that, Mr. Leslie.” 

” And there’s no way for him to have come in at but the win- 
dow, thief and robber.” 

” Come in at the window. We’ll see what the sheriff will say to 
that. He’ll have bis year foi it.” 

it dawned upon Kixon that he had done something, in coming 
by the window, which might be understood against him. He did 
not hesitate, but standing at the sill for a couple of seconds, vaulted 
out upon the parapet. He turned and looked in. Leslie entered, 
fojlowed by a shadow of a woman who peered into the darkness. 
He retreated backward, and she saw nothing. She shut the win- 
dow, and he saw Leslie, with his hand to his head, seal himself in 
the chair. 

“Ho,” said Nixon in the dark. ”1 shall not go to Ausiralia. 
1 shall up to the diggings and wait.” . 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

A DECISION. 

Leslie returned from his picnic to his hotel, and felt the good 
ot it. It was a new^ experience to him not to be the chief person- 
age in his little circle. At Ruddersdale he was always the man 
who -was most considered- at Edinburgh he was only one ot a 
group, neither more nor less than anybody else to whom the level- 
ing laws of courtesy applied. He was none the worse for it, anti 
slept soundly that night, though his bedroom overlooked Princes’ 
Street, and a considerable rolling ot cabs went on all through the 
midnight. Next day he visited the courts, transacted some busi 
ness, and m the evening called upon a physician ot great fame who 
lived in Charlotte Square, He w-as .shown into a depressing little 
study, and as he sat his ailment seemed to come upon him with 
tenible force ‘‘I’m dying,” he murmured to himself, as the 
physician— sallow, keen, husky in the voice and decisive in its 
use— sauntered in and asked him what was the matter, 

” It’s you that must tell me that,” he remarked, rousing himself 
at the prick of what seemed rudeness, but what was really only a 
habitual abruptness begotten of the prevarications of patients. 


222 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ With a little help from you, no doubt,” said the physician, 
drawing down his blind, turning up a lamp, and sitting down, with 
a glance so penetrating that Leslie had a feeling of his whole pre- 
vious life being unrolled before him. 

It’s here,” said Leslie, with his hand over the region of his 
heart. 

” Do you drink?” asked the physician, sniflOlng the air for the 
truth, and obviously in full expectation of a falsehood, looking at 
the red face of Leslie. 

*' No, 1 can not say 1 do. 1 am not a teetotaler.” 

” Smoke?” 

“ Yes, 1 regret to say 1 both smoke and snuff. I’m very hard 
on the tobacco.” 

” If you would unbutton your waistcoat 1 could ascertain.” 

Leslie ran his fingers up his waistcoat, and presented a broad 
chest and immaculate shin to the physician. 

” 1 would have thought you would require an instrument,” said 
Leslie. 

The physician said nothing. 

‘‘Let me feel your pulse,” he said. ‘‘No, never mind unbut- 
toning your wrist; there’s a pulse on your temple — that’ll do as 
well.” 

‘‘ 1 would have thought you would require your watch,” said 
Leslie, a little suspicious of this great physician, who made no 
more fuss about him than if he had been an animal in a farm-yard. 

” I’ou are not well,” said the physician. 

Leslie thought he detected death in the announcement, and 
looked correspondingly alarmed. 

‘‘ No, I’m not well, or 1 wouldn’t be here.” 

” You’re excited.” 

“Not 1!” 

“ Your pulse is 125.” 

“ What should it be?” 

“ Something under that.” 

“ My o.vn local doctor could have told me all that for ?s. 6d.” 

“ Well, there’s no harm in my corroborating his report for two 
guineas.” 

“ But you’ve taken no trouble.” 

“Is this what you want?” asked the physician, drawing out a 
complicated stethoscope from a drawer, and presenting a great in- 
strument in brass for registering the movements of the pulse. 
” When 1 examine fools I bring out these. It impresses their im- 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


223 


aejinations. When 1 have before me a man— a sick man, who has 
the basis of sanity in his composition, 1 diagnose as I have done. 
1 vvill go over it all again with dramatic accompaniments, if you 
insist. Bat 1 already know everything. You are a hard drinker. 
You smoke very little, and snufi hardly at ail. And something, 
either by way of business or in some other relation of life, lies on 
your mind. You may go mad, if you are not careful.” 

** Mad?” said Leslie. Do 1 look like a madman?” 

” JS'o, not the least. But there are indications in your eye and in 
the movement of your blood which bid me warn you that you will 
have to go warily. What is the nature of your employment?” 

” I administer the Dunbeath property, in the north ol Scotland.” 
** The new gold country?” 

” Yes.” 

” Then 1 will write you a prescription before you return to it.” 

” Thank you.” 

‘‘ Now a word,” said the physician, as he handed him the pre- 
scription. ‘‘ This is of no particular use. Lay aside your bottle. 
Moderate your pipe. Don’t abolish it. Some bad habits are 
healthy, or at least necessary to health, once they are acquired. 
Drop supposing you are in a gold country. Keep in your mind’s 
eye that you are in a sheep country, a fish country, a grouse coun- 
try, a red-deer country, and w'hatever other natural products you 
may have. Otherwise— Morningside.” 

” Thank you again,” said Leslie, depositing a couple of guineas, 
which the physician, with an affectation of contempt, put in a 
coat-tail pocket. 

The factor stood at the corner of the street and read the pro- 
scription. 

“Confound him!” he ejaculated. “It’s nothing but soda- 
water. That’s what it comes to. Morningside, indeed!” 

And he tore up the prescription. 

“ 1 could have found a better use for my guineas,’" he added, 
not quite sure of his way, and looking down a long narrow lane 
before he came out on Princes’ Street. 

Then be recollected that be had to meet Porfeous and Usher, and 
he cast off all the feeling of being a patient, and went bravely on 
to his dinner. It was an important meeting. It had to decide 
whether he was justified in sending halt a hundred men upon a 
mountain -stream, with wages, to search for ore. lie knew Porte- 
ous had failed in placing the ore. Nobody would look at it. Usher’s 
eloquence, in periodic print, had all been to no purpose; but the 


.>lH CJiABLE AKD SPADE. 

next step had to be taken, and it had to be taken no^^^ The factor 
felt positively bright and alert as he wandered back from the phy- 
sician’s, convincing himself that he would never have prcsciibecl 
soda- water as a cuie unless he was a healthy man. 

“ Twe guineas thrown awayl” he murmured, going up the steps 
of his hotel. 

He had a private room, and expected the advocate and slcck-broker 
to spend the evening with him. But the}^ were not yet aiiivcd. 

“ Madl mad!” he ejaculated as he rang tor champagne. ” No, 
not so bad as that.” Yet was he a great deal more shaken, physic- 
ally and mentally, than he was. aware — physically for the reason 
that the doctor had assigned; mentally because of the supernatural 
turn which events had seemed to him to take at Dunbealh House. 
The change had done him good, however. He had been to Parlia- 
ment House, and, being recognized by one and another influential 
advocate as a man who had briefs to distribute, he was received 
with unbounded cordiality. 

He lost sight of the meaning of the cordiality, and assured himself 
that he w'as a first-rate man, who, with a fine host of friends, had 
nothing to fear. 

‘‘No, nothing to fear,” he said to himself, as he heard Usher’s 
and Porteus’s footsteps on the stairs. 

‘‘ Friend Porteous!” he ejaculated, holding out his hand, “I’ve 
been waiting ye.” 

“ We’re quite up to date,” remarked Usher. 

“ You’re not late. No, but I’ve been full of business, you under- 
stand, and may be a little impatient. Sit down, both of you. Don’t 
go away, waiter. I take it for granted that you both incline to this 
sort o’ stuff— eh?” 

“ No harm,” said Porteous, “ in a little of it.’* 

“ No harm,” echoed Usher, unburdening himself of a pocketful 
of papers. 

They stood round, taking their champagne, and after a few^ witti- 
cisms on Usher’s part, they attacked their business, Leslie putting 
on spectacles, which he did not require, while Porteous in a dreamy 
voice read over, word for word, a quantity of written and printed 
matter bearing upon the gold mines of Ruddersdale. Leslie, re- 
clining in his chair, generalized upon the documents, and pointed 
out his own disappointment that. the investing public had failed him 
in Scotland. 

*■ But,” he added, “ as 1 have contended all along, there are other 


Cl^ADLE AKD SPADE. 


225 


exchanges than ours, and 1 have sent the men to their work in the 
full hope and belief that while they work you will negotiate.” 

Porteous looked at Usher, and Usher remarked that negotiation 
was entirely cut of his line. 

“'Ibey are on the ground now,” pursued Leslie, ‘‘nigh on a 
hundred of them, their apparatus applied, and their wages due 
every Saturday afternoon, and paid when due. 1 am running them 
at my own expense. But 1 am not a fool. 1 am not a madman. 
Porteous, find the company, and 1 give you my word of honor I’ll 
find the ore.” 

” There’s only one place where the company can be formed. 

” V\"here?’ 

‘‘ In Paris.” 

” That’s what 1 believe; that’s what I’ve thought all along. If 
you can grease the palm o' that Duke de Worny, who has so much 
influence with the emperor and everybody, you can run the com- 
pany to a splendid tune.” 

” Duke de Morny!” ejaculated Usher, whistling. 

” 1 mention him because he seems to be the prince of finance.” 

” Well, then,” said Porteous, abruptjy, ” let us decide about one 
thing. The company won’t go here. That’s final,” 

‘‘ Tou decide that it shall go abroad?” 

‘‘1 do.” 

” I’ou decide that it goes to Paris?” 

” 1 do.” 

‘‘You decide that I take it to Paris?” 

”1 do.” 

‘‘ Now?” 

” Yes.” 

“Agreed. Then, Mr. Usher, 1 propose that the box you have 
taken at the Theatre Royal be repaired to at once.” 

“ "We can’t do business there,” said Leslie, with the pomp of 
transaction on him, willing to talk more, and to feel the importance 
of the situation. But the metropolitan men rose together, and he 
was hurried out into (he street, dowm Leith Walk, into the Theatre 
Royal, to the box. Leslie did homage to a good play by instanta- 
neously falling asleep and declining to awake till the curtain tell. 

“ It was a fine play,” he yawned. “ 1 haven’t seen one for some 
few years. It docs one good” 

“ I’m off to Palis to morrow,” said Porteous. 

“ And 1 m to Rudder edale,” added the factor, at the door of his 
hotel. 


8 


ckadlt: akd spade. 


22Q 


CHAPTER XLV. 

SIR THOMAS DUNBEATH. 

Nixon arrived at the dig^:ings atler infinite toil. It had been an 
eventful day and an exhausting night —a day in Tvhich he had been 
on the verge of deprivation of life; a night in which he had made 
the discovery that he was the son of the proprietor of the soil. To 
a penniless young man that was something indeed. It was some- 
thing to suppose that he was heir to a river, that he owned mount- 
ains and farms on them, that he could dispose ot fisheries as he 
liked, that where he supposed he was beggar he was really patron. 
It rather stupefied him. He formerly thought he had the clew to 
the origin of the girl he loved. He now thought he had found the 
clew to his own ignominious origin. No bar sinister any longer. 
No, he was the Joseph Nixon of the parchment, the heir, the com- 
ing man of Ruddersdale. So he conceived himself, as he turned 
back from the roaring ot the bay ot Dunbeath, back from the win- 
dow Where the hag and the factor had stood threatening his liberty, 
perhaps his life, back into the moor and the forest over which the 
storm had lightened, and fled to the sea. He did not understand 
how it was that he reached the diggings. He had gone deep into 
many a marsh and stumbled over huhdreds cf knolls; he had lain 
down and nodded, and pinched his knees and elbows, and risen and 
struggled through the windy weather, and looked for the aurcra 
and the stars; he had picked a pocket-compass out ot his vest, tried 
jt at all the “ airts ” of the wind, and laid it back again, had tum- 
bled into half a dozen swollen brooks, and groped his way out of 
them; had dipped a leg into a bog, and thanked God he was not 
clicked; had tumbled over an incipient cliff; and finally, he knew 
not how, arrived at Russell’s head quarters as the day began to 
break. 

At the gold diggings at last! — the diggings, anyhow, whether 
there was gold or not. He clambered up a knoll overlooking the 
scene, and in the thin leaden light ot the morning he made out tent 
after tent, the little communily, w’hich was all asleep. It seemed 
to him a long time before the first light wbich individualized ob- 
jects became strong enough tor him to see all round about. 

Bit by bit, however, it came out of the east, over the sea, and 
the black trunks and waving branches of a neighboring clump of 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


227 


trees stood out dear, and into the clearness came the sound of 
winged voices, until he knew that it was daylight. 

“ Hi— ho — hum.” he yawned, stretching his arms, and feeling 
well-nigh dead, as he gazed from tent to tent, now perfectly ob- 
vious, and saw the preparations which had been made to catch the 
gold. 

It w'as not an imposing spectacle. Only a valley on a small scale, 
with a stream on a small scale, and one, tw’o, three, four, five, six, 
seven, eight, nine, ten tents. The first that he counted was nearest 
him. There was a bit of red flannel wagging from the summit of 
it; no doubt it was KusseH’s tent. 

The red, clumsy flag seemed to be the signal of authority. It 
was official or nothing, for there was nothing comparable to it in- 
side the stream. As yet, however, it was all very quiet, save for 
the birds’ voices from the trees beyond the camp. 

“ It’s a camp,” murmured Kixon, in the dawn. ” Yes, a camp, 
figlding, fighting. Fighting for gold. And this is but the inno- 
cent heather, where they are taking wages. Fighting for gold; 
and what blood they shedi What hearts the}’’ breaii! How' many 
lives they thre.w away! How many they break on the wheel ! Not 
here. No. Further oft. In the cities, where the yellow stufl is 
stored, and where they get leaves of interior paper for it. Old 
gold! As old as Adam, as wicked— and poor Adam wasn’t so bad 
as the snake represented him to be — the oiiginatoi of most of the 
cardinal errors. Gold!” 

The dawn came full upon the camp from the sea and the east, 
and Nixon saw the valley unfold' before him. 

” Yes, it w'as a poor prospect. There was no romance in it 
whatever. Some hillocks of yellow mud, seme sluices, and the 
bottom stream of the valley flowing away toward the Cranberry— 
that was all. He sat dewn upon a spur of granite, which was dry, 
and the sheep began to bleat round about him. 

” They are mine,” he reflected. ‘‘ 1 have a right to be here and 
to see it when they are asleep. I own it. The land is mine. The 
gold is mine. Hang it ! 1 have dropped my pouch. No, 1 haven’t. 
My pouch is here, and the tobacco, a little damp and no match. 
Yes, here is a match after all. Poor fellows! all asleep — the gold 
left lying about for any thief to pick it up. How the internal stuff 
makes one moralize, to be sure! Here, sitting in this cold dawn, 1 
can’t help reflecting that, as somebody said, God made the country 
and man made the town. God made everything else, and the devil 
made gold. Pufi! PufI! I’rn sure of it. Putt! Putt! Hang it^ 


22S 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


my pipe’s out. The tobacco’s damp all over. Puff! Puff! Puff! 
No, it isn’t — and the devil made gold. For men murder each other 
for it at the mcuth of the mine; they carry it into civilization, and, 
as they have it or have it not, scheme away their human nature at 
its best till they get it, i.r, losing it, drop out of sight. Puff! Puff! 
Puff! Puff! 1 had best be done of reflecting; 1 rather think that’s 
Russell’s head at the mouth of his tent. It is Russell. Yes. He 
doesn't see me, however.*’ 

A head had appeared at the mouth of the tent with the red flan- 
nel flag. It was Russell’s. He looked cautiously out. He had a 
worsted night-cap on, and seemed to shiver a little; and his Roman 
nose looked blue. He put up his right hand and shaded his eyes, 
and he noticed Nixon silting on the knoll. 

“ Ah, it’s you. You don’t happen to have joined the Excise, do 
you?” he added in a frigid voice. 

” Not 1, indeed.” 

‘‘ You’re early over from the village.” • 

‘‘ Y’es, up with the sky-lark. Early to bed, early to rise.” 

‘‘To be sure. I’t'e practiced it all my life, and here 1 stand, 
earlier than ever, not very healthy, not at all wealthy, and only 
middling wise.” 

‘‘You seem to be first up.” 

‘‘Rather. 1 only came out to see how the wind was. We’re 
not due at the mines yet for an hour and a half. Come along 
across, and shake hands with me; I’m cold.” 

Nixon went down off his knoll, and ascended Russell’s. There 
was nobody in his tent but himself. It was the mark of his au- 
thcrity. Every other tent contained its complement of men. His 
alone was empty. 

‘‘You must have left Nancy’s in the dark,” resumed Russell. 

‘‘ Yes.” 

‘‘ What’s the hour — time?” 

‘‘ 1 should say about four o’clock, only my watch has stopped.” 

‘‘You haven’t been in bed all night; what’s up?” 

*‘ No, not all night. I’m rather tired.” 

‘‘ Come along, young fellow. 1 see it in your eye. You have 
come to dig. Welcome to you; your spade’s ready for you, so you 
can sit under my canvas.” 

The east threw all the light it contained upon the scene, light 
which streamed off the sea in mountainous masses of refulgent 
crimson, in thick parallels of immovable yellow, in interspaces of 
pansy blue. 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


229 


“ My fatigue seems all gone,” said Nixon, ” notwithstanding that 
I’ve been up all night.” 

‘‘ What’s the want ol a night’s sleep to a young fellow like you? 
I’ve gone without five nights’ sleep at your age.” 

‘‘ Physical!}" impossible, my dear fellow ” (Puff, putt, puff!) 

” Wait a minute. I’ll jump into my breeches in no time, and 
show you the community betoie it’s up.” 

Nixon followed his friend into his tent, and looked about him. 

There was a snug forecastle hammock swung on the innermost 
side of it. There was a table, two chairs, a stove, and the top of 
the pipe led outside. 

‘‘Talk of coldl” ejaculated Nixon. ‘‘You are quite stuBy in 
here.” 

“I’m glad you think so.” 

Russell was not long in putting his feet into a pair of bluchers 
and ” breeches,” and in throwing a jacket over the red jersey 
which seemed to have done duty for his night-shirt. He had soon 
filled a pipe, stirred the bottom of his stove, and extracted a light, 
taken a copper kettle off a hook and placed it with water on the 
hot surface of the stove, exclaiming — 

‘‘ Now!” 

‘‘ Now!” responded Nixon, his teeth chattering slightly over his 
pipe. 

” Talk of the Pope of Rome to be as happy as 1 am.” 

“ When did you hear from your wife?” 

” This way — this way, man! Now look at the community be- 
fore it’s up.” 

They stood together in front cf Russell’s tent, and the dawn was 
fairly over their heads. There was a little sunshine by this time. 
It lightened the flow of the brook on its way toward the Cranberry. 

Nixon marked myriads of wil;l-fluwers of every hue, blooming 
and blowing over the valley. His eye was filled with them; his 
ear was filled with the sound from the neighboring wmod. 

“Ten tents!” he murmured. 

” One— two— three- -yes, of course— to be sure, ten tents. About 
sixty of us now. Some green hands frem Ruddersdale have come. 
We expect some mere. We have plenty of room for them.” 

They prefer digging to fishing?” 

” Apparently.” 

” Tirey leave a reality for a phantom— a poor phantom out of 
which 1 am very certain there isn’t a living to be made.” 

'* That’s an argunrent,” replied Russell, quickly. ” Now, look 


230 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


at our apparatus. We are only on the surface yet, but look twice 
round before they are up.” 

” They have a cradle at each tent door, I see.” 

“Yes; that’s the first stage. They haven’t done much with 
that.” 

” What are they doing anything with, then?” 

” With (he lorn and the sluice.” 

” 1 see— yes.” 

You see, but you don’t understand.” 

” Perhaps not.” 

” The tom is used by the raw ones, the sluice by the old hands. 
In both cases the principle is the same. Y^ou pick out the gold 
from the dirt by tom or sluice, owing to the greater specific gravity 
of the gold. 1 say, my pipe's out. Wait a minute. 1 want to 
put more fuel in that stove, at any rate. I’m the only man with a 
stove.” 

‘‘ You were talking about greater specific gravity,” said Nixon, 
rubbing his brow, and looking dead-beat with iatigue. 

‘‘ Ah, tom and sluice — yes. Well, you see, the tom is like this. 
Look at it for yourself al the further end of the valley where tne 
fall is— a couple of boxes inclined, one over the other, the water let 
into them. The upper box has a grating at the bottom near the 
lower end; under the grating is the low’-er box. You understand?” 

” Perfectly.” 

” Well, the water goes through the upper tox; they pitch the 
dirt into it, wash it with a shovel. I’m not sure that you hadn’t 
better begin upcn that yourself, as soon as you feel inclined to take 
wages. A square-mouthed shovel; you see them lying about. The 
dirt— that is, sand, earth, small stones— ought to go through from 
the upper to the lower box, which, you see, is inclined, and with 
such inclination that the water leaves the bottom covered with a 
thin layer of loose material. You understand?” 

” Perfectly.” 

” Then al this end there’s the sluicing. We sluice at this end, 
because, you observe, the valley dips off the granite, and operating, 
we can take a good box sluice. The principle is quite simple there, 
too.” 

” Quite. 1 see it at a glance— an inclined channel with a stream 
of water Sowing through it.” 

‘‘ Exactly— exactly so, and the gold ought to lie at the bottom of 
the sluice alter the earth has been pitched into it and washed.” 

‘‘It’s all very simple.” 


231 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 

“ Quite so; but as we get on we’ll get deeper and use other ap- 
pliances. 1 fancy all Leslie wants is a good wealthy company— 
then the thing’s done.” 

‘‘ Then the thing’s done,” yawned Nixon, looking at the nearest 
tent from which a bare head emerged. 

‘‘ Morning, clium,” nodded the head. 

‘‘Good-morning, Armstrong.” 

‘‘ Tiiought you wculd te over this way shortly. How’s Kirsty ?” 

*‘ Who’s Kirsty?” 

‘‘ Ho! ho! ho!” 

“You mean Nancy’s servant?” 

‘‘ 1 should think 1 did.” 

‘‘ Well enough, as far as I know.” 

Another head appeared at another tent-doer, then another and 
another; and in a few moments several long bare legs were splash- 
ing in the stream. 

‘‘ Russell,” said Nixon, ” before the community’s about 1 feel I 
must have a rest. 1 begin to give way with fatigue. 1 have gene 
through a good deal in the last four-and-twenty hours.” 

‘‘ Now that 1 see yoU;With the light on your face, you do look 
like it. Tumble into my hammock.” 

Nixon strolled into Russell’s tent. He turned at the door in 
time to hear something shouted across the valley. 

‘‘ As like old High-Dry as one pta is to another.” 

'* Sir Thomas Dunbeath,” murmured Nixon. 


CHAPTER XLVL 

IRRITATION. 

On the eventful night of the visit to Dunbeath House, when Nan- 
cy heard Elspeth’s voice crying in ageny, she swept through the bf- 
wildering darkness of the house and carried her w ith her to the 
door which she had entered. She lifted her into her phaeton and 
covered her with the rug beneath W’hicli she had slept on coming 
out. 

‘‘ Sleep, girl, sleep,” she cried in the darkness, yoking her horse 
and getting up to her seat. 

And Elspeth slept all the way back to Ruddcrsdale. When they 
returned they foutid Elspeth’s father anrl mother in the kitchen. 
Oliver had met his wife on the way home to his dwelling, and 
nothing would satisfy her but a return to Ruddersdale. 


2S2 


CRADLE AND SPADE, 


“ Oh, poor lamb! pooi lamb!” said Mrs. Gun, gathering Elspetb 
in her arms. 

‘‘ There’s no occasion,” said Nancy, with slow frigidity, ** for 
much o’ that. None whatever.” 

‘‘ It’s only natural, Mrs. Harper, that 1 should be glad to see my 
poor endangered child.” 

” May be it is, but it was your duty, when you knew the state o’ 
the weather, to see that she wasn’t in danger.” 

” Dinna be hard on us, Mrs. Harper; we can not tie the girl up 
like a bit lame animal to the house forever,” said the shepherd. 

” Now, Nancy, if you please, 1 know it was very wrong of me 
to go on Diilot when the water had risen, and I had nothing to ex- 
pect but danger, and I’ve given a great deal of unnecessary trouble 
— a great deal indeed, and I’m sorry for it; but you must just for- 
give me.” 

The shepherd and his wife fell back toward the fire. Nancy 
stooped over the girl, and kissed her on both cheeks. 

” Poor lamb! poor lamb!” said the shepherd’s wife. ‘‘And, 
Elspeth, did ye not fear for your life on the river?” 

“ Dinna be rakin’ rt up again,” exclaimed Nancy. ‘‘ The girl’s 
on the rack wi’ one thing and another.” 

Mother and father kept silence, gazing wrstfully at Elspeth, who 
was sitting on a wooden chair, trying to look unfatigued. 

‘‘You’re too good tome,” she murmured. 

‘‘ li's high time, Kir sty,” said Nancy, turning on her domestic 
who came in rubbing her eyes. ” 1 wonder you’re not ashamed o’ 
yoursel’ to sleep so soond and let everybody hear ye. You should 
have been at the door.” 

‘‘ ’Deed, Mrs. Harper, your orders were very uncertain.” 

‘‘Ay, that’s your impudence.” 

‘‘No, indeed, Mrs. Harper, it’s—” 

” That’ll do now. Oliver Gun, you’ll better go to your bed and 
dinna leave your wife behind ye. On no account, by no manner o’ 
means. I’ll lake charge o’ Elspeth.” 

The pair went o3 together, preceded by Kirsly, to a little room, 
mentioned by the innkeeper, and Elspeth sat subdued and tired on 
her chair, surprised a little at Nancy’s autocratic ways. She treat- 
ed them as if they were strangers and culprits, her own father and 
mother. 

‘‘ Wliat are you going to do with me, Nancy?” 

” Put you to your bed, lassie.” said the innkeeper, looking out a 
bunch of sUel ke3^s and opening a drawer. 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


233 


Within the drawer was a secret spring, which unlocked a small 
compartment, and from a bed of wadding Nancy took a key. JShe 
blew into it. She held it to the light. She rubbed it with a little 
chamois-leather till it shone. She held it to the light again, and 
sighed. 

“Now, Nancy, you’re not to put yourself to any trouble about 
me. 1 couldn’t eat and 1 couldn’t drink the best you have in your 
house. It’s no use offering it me; none whatever.” 

“ It’s neither meat nor drink, Elspetn.” 

“ 1 thought you were going to your gentry cupboard. I’ve seen 
ye at it before when some o’ the duke’s people were at the door, 
and you had nothing to give them from the bar.” 

“ Ay, you see things, girl; 3 ’’ou have an eye o’ your own. You 
notice. You observe. You don’t forget. But this is no key o’ 
the cupboard. Here, my darling, put your arm in mine and come 
away wi’ me. The house is full, and I’m going to give you a room 
all to yourself. You’ll no be nervous, for 1 sleep next door. You’ll 
no come runnin’ in, cryin’ what you cried this night.” 

“ VVhat was that, Nancy?” 

“ ‘ Father ! father!’ ” 

“ If 1 ever! It came out cf me without my knowing it.” 

“ Come away, girl.” 

They ascended Nancy’s stairs, and at a door at the further end 
of a passage the innkeeper inserted her key. It only went halt in. 

“ It’s the roost,” said Nancy, holding the light down and look- 
ing in at the key-hole. “ It needs oil.” 

** I’ll hold the light till you come back.” Elspeth held it, and 
Nancy returned with a bottle of oil and a feather, with which she 
anointed the orifice. 

“ Now it’ll do.” And it “ did.” 

By the next insertion the door turned on its hinges, and Elspeth 
found herself inside a room, which was unlike any in the inn. 

“ Nancy, there’s something queer about this room,” said Elspeth. 

“Ay, lassie.” 

“ Was there ever anybody in it before?” 

“ Ay, dawtie.” 

“ It’s a long time since.” 

“ Ay, Elspeth.” 

Nancy stood upon the threshold with her light. Elspeth ad- 
vanced into the room, on cne side of which stood a low tour-post 
bed, mostly hidden with thick curtains. The window was cur- 
tamed whkh looked on the jroadway. A side window, smaller, had 


234 


cradle and spade. 


a blind down and one shutter closed. An empty carafie stood on 
the table. A web of thick spider-work extended from ceilins: to 
ceiling. 

“ Nancy, I’ll be a little uncomfortable here.” 

” No, my dear, you’ll sleep. I’ll bide with you till you fa’ over. 
Now, lake oft your things, and I’ll be with you eenoo.” 

Elspeth looked about her uncomfortably. She went to the door 
ami heard Nancy at her praj’^ers. She could make out Oliver’s 
snore and her mother’s accompaniment. She returned to the bed- 
side. The bed was ‘‘ made.” White and cool the sheets looked. 
Snowy the pillows, yet as if they had been made and frozen long, 
long ago. Elspeth turned to the looking-glass; it offered her no 
reflection— it was covered with cobwebs, thick as cloth. She went 
to the basin- stand: cobwebs in the tumblers, cobwebs in the ewers. 
She looked up to the wall: there was a picture, covered with cob- 
webs. She stood on a chair and wiped it. She uncovered a girl’s 
face — a plain, sweet, homely face enough. 

” Nancy, you’ve surely shown me this before,” said the girl, as 
the innkeeper came in again. 

‘‘ Nc, not 1.” 

*‘ Then it’s a face I’ve surely seen in a dream.” 

*‘ Like enough, Elspeth.” 

She undressed; but before she went into bed Nancy had warmed 
it with a hot bottle, and taken the long chill of disuse from the 
sheets. 

‘‘ Nancy, it must be a great time since any person slept in this 
bed. Who was the last person, 1 wonder?” 

” How can 1 remember, lassie?” 

‘‘ I’ll soon fall asleep, Nancy.” 
les.” 

” 1 forgot to say my prayers.” 

” Tou can, may be, say them in your bed. They’ll no think ill 
o’ ye when you’re so tired, and had so hard a day and night.” 

But Elspeth, in her snowy gown, threw aside the coverlet, and 
came out on the floor, bending on both knees. 

‘‘ T Du know, Nancy, I’ve had a wonderful escape. It would be 
unthankful not to say my prayers on such a night.” 

She buried her head in the mattress, and Nancy bent over her to 
listen, but she could not hear what the girl was saying. She pres- 
ently thought she had fallen off to sleep, and stealthily put a shawl 
round her shoulders. 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 235 

1 wonder, Nancy, it pcor Mr. Nixon remembered to say his 
players?” 

*' Now, dawtie, sleep, sleep. And never yen move till 1 waken 
ye up and tell ye it’s time to stir.” 

Elspeth closed her e^’^es, and with one arm bare to the elbow re 
posing upon the coverlet, she went ofi into an immediate and deep 
sleep. Nancy sat motionless in a chair. Every sound in the house 
had subsided except the monotonous beat of the pendulum of a 
c’oek on the stair. Nancy listened to the steady movement of the 
pendulum, and murmured— 

‘*lt’a hurrying on, hurrying on— hour in, hour out, and I’ll 
may be die, and he’ll survive me, and he’ll cheat them all — devil 
that he is. Oh, fool! oh. sinful one that I’ve been!” 

And as the girl’s breathing showed that she was unmistakably 
asleep for the niglit, the innkeeper leaned down and laid her head 
on the spot where Elspeth prayed. What she said, as she moaned 
into aspiration, is only known to the powers above. 

******* 

Leslie came back to Ruddersdale in a very different frame of 
mind from that in which he had set out. Everything had gone well 
with him in Edinburgh. He had been received with open arms at 
Parliament House. He had dined with Lord Straven. He had 
fairly sent the scheme of a company, through Parleous, to the Pa- 
risian Exchange. He was assured that the confidence in him as ad- 
ministrator of the estates was as strong as ever in the Couit of Ses- 
sion. Before he left the capital he had even lliited a little with 
some eligible girls, and had revived for their benefit the gallantry of 
demeanor which had earned for him, all unawares to himself, the 
nicKname of ” The Tup,” amid his own rural surroundings. He 
lest, therefore, the first bewilderment of look which overtook him 
on the morn of his supernatural experience at Dunbeath House. 
The threat of madness wdiich the metropolitan physician iield over 
him had induced a saner habit of mind and body. He drank less, 
and he brooded less over the past or the future. Still, there iiad 
been some annoying incidents, particularly one which had revealed 
to him that a certain strip of a deed had been posted by Nancy 
Harper’s hand to Sheriff Durie. The sheriff had shown him the 
address, and asked him whose handwriting he theught it was, had 
suggested to him that Joseph Nixon was being creditetl with the 
great expectations which Mina Dune had long entertained, and had 
ended up by declaring that ” the best thing that could happen to 


23G 


CRADLE AKD S1LU)E. 


the properly was that it should be wound up and passed back to 
the CrowQ.” 

“ 1 would still act,” Leslie had gasped. 

" 1 should say 3^ou were as permanent as any of the natural feat- 
ures of the estate,” replied the sheriff. And the factor breathed 
freely. 

He arrived at Huddersdale with the conviction, however, that his 
teais and annoyances were premature. His lease of power was not 
over. It required nothing more than an exercise of business talent 
and tact to keep his tooling. 

The vision of blood which used to rise before him dissolved away 
inlo space. 

The night after his return he called at Mrs. Harper’s. He was 
surprised to see that Nancy had added a male attendant to her estab- 
lishment— a real, live waiter, in aildition to homely Kiisty, who 
met him in the passage toward the bar. The waiter had been draft- 
ed in from Oiley, and carried his towel with the air of an artist in 
that department long used to his work. 

‘‘ Where is Mis. Harper?” 

” Upstairs, sir.” 

Tell her I’m here.” 

” Tes, sir.” 

” Tell her I’m in Laggan’s room.” 

He went into the guard’s room, and looked out of window. The 
waiter returned. 

” They will see you upstairs, sir,” said the waiter. 

” They— wdio? Did you say that Mr. Leslie wanted to see her?’* 

‘’Yes, sir.” 

He had taken off his hat, but he resumed it, and swung upstairs 
with an air of irritation. Mrs. Harper was treating him very cav- 
alierly indeed. He stood in the door- way to which the waiter ush- 
ered him, with seine surprise. It was a new room in his experience 
of the house, and as he peered in he saw a young person at the 
window, with a box of tinsel and pig’s wool and a wing or two of 
a grouse, Nancy, in her weeds, reclined in an easy-chair, knitting. 
The young person seemed to be ” busking ” books. He had seen 
her before, he was confiaent, but wheie he could net remember. 
Let him see— was she one of the duke's people? 

” Come away in, Mr. Leslie,” exclaimed Nancy, with an un- 
wonted dignity of utterance. 

'•You have a visitor with you, Mrs. Harper. Are you amusing 


CEAT)L>^ AKD SPADE, 


2o7 


yourself busking, miss? 1 seem to know you, and yet 1 can’t re- 
call wheie.” 

“ Ay, you know her,” said Nancy dryly. 

He took oft his hut and sat down. 

The young ladv was sufliciently attractive to remind him of the 
gallant manner he could command. He smoothed the hair on his 
blow: looked at the small feet which rested on a high footstool; 
admired the delicate mouth and the white teeth, v^hich were snap- 
ping a thread at the end of a hook; examined the eyes, gray and 
calm; calculated the cost of the dress she wore. Then he started 
to his feet as ihe perspiraiion broke out on his brow. 

“ Ay, you know her,” repeated Nancy, who had been looking at 
him over her stocking. ” It’s Miss Gun.” 

Elspeth was very unlike her old self. The fashicnable dress- 
maker at Oiley, to whom Nancy had driven her since Leslie last 
saw them, had metamorphosed her. She seemed a few years older 
than the girl of the shieling, but there was so perfect an adaptation 
of form to dress that the age became her. Not only so, but she; 
had changed her manner, as it appeared. She looieed at him cool 
ly, calmly, as if he w'ere nothing particular; she, Elspeth Gun, the 
shepherd girl! It was not an aggressive kind of expression either,, 
carrying in it the assertion, ” a cat may look at a king.” It was 
the look of a person used to social life, accustomed to give and re- 
ceive courtesies to and fr(>ra all sorts of people. 

” Yes, 1 see,” he said at length; ‘‘ 1 see it’s Miss Gun.’ 

And he put on his hat as he opened a door and peered into the 
neighboring room. It was Elspeth ’s bedroom. 

“ You’re away very soon, Mr Leslie,” said Nancy 
” This is a new addition to the house,” he remarked, wiping his 
brow. 

‘‘No, no, it’s only long shut up. Miss Gun sleeps there; and 
sits here, breakfasts and dines here. Go in and see it, Mr. Leslie, 
look about ye.” 

She patronized him as she sat in the elbow-chair, knitting. He 
did not obey her, how^ever. He only looked in at the resuscitated 
bedroom; and turning on her furiously, without seeming to ob 
serve Elspeth, exclaimed. 

‘‘ You old fool! what’s the meaning of this?” 

Nancy went on with her wires, a heightened benignancy appear- 
ing in her face, as she looked at Elspeth, who laid down a grouse’s 
wing. 

” Sir,” said Elspeth, ” sir, you’re using the wrong word when 


238 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


you say ‘ fool ’ to Nancy. She’s no fool 1 think you might find 
anothei.’" 

He made no repl}^ hut strode from the rocm, from the inn, from 
the village, and late on in the night he was standing in the grave* 
yard again. If the metropolitan doctor had seen him, lie would 
have regretted that he had not put a straight waistcoat into the pre- 
scription which was torn at a corner and thrown away. 


CHAPTER XLVll 

ADIEU. 

Mina’s exuberance at lengtn forsook her. The sherifli’s visitor 
was gone. There were no mere dances. If there had been mere, 
his ward could not have gone to them. She was fairly “down;" 
not ill, not requiring, not asking a doctor to be called in to see her, 
but in a condition which induced her to seek the seclusion of sofas, 
and to ask the sheriff to ring the bell, when slie would, in ordinary 
circumstances, have tripped to the handle herself. He saw that he 
had been deceived by her sprightliness, that the tumble into uncon 
sciousness that stormy Sunday afternoon really meant ill-health, 
and he blew himself up for accepting the deceitful signs of cheer- 
fulness tor what they seemed to be. Still he saw that tlie illness 
was of the mind and not of the body. No doubt it w'as the old 
story— love, forbidden or at least postponed love, for Joseph. 

“ Don't you think,” said the sheriff in the twilight, as he sat at 
the open window ot tne drawing-room one evening, reflectively 
pufling a cigar as he watched a mavis hop, hop, hopping along his 
lawn, and seeming to feed plentifully upon nothing; ” don’t you 
think Td better write to Nixon? 1 don’t mind writing to him to 
come here as a visitor. Poor Joe! What the deuce he can be do- 
ing up there all this lime is more than I comprehend.” 

Mina, as it happened, had been thinking of Ciaigmillar and the 
brilliant advocate and his imploring manner, and of Joseph’s cow- 
ardice in sending her no letters. Yes, cowardice. She had got the 
length of catling his silence cowardice. But she only sighed as the 
sheriff smoked and talked. 

“ You know 1 don’t want to be an obstacle,” he continued. 

Why should I? It you love the man, then that’s an end ot it; 
and upon my word 1 met L'shci to-day, and his manner was very 
pert and overbearing. He hardly slopped to speak. No doubt he 


239 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 

was just rushing to keep an engagement in the Outer House, but he 
need not have made it so apparent — no. AVhat do ycu say, Mina? 
Shall 1 invite Joseph down to stay with us— for a week, or a month, 
or three months? Say the word.” 

No, papa deal,” moaned Mina 

“No?” 

“No.” 

The sheriS smoked cn, and thought he heard a sob. It decided 
him. He would be plain with Mina. He w^ould speak out. He 
w^ould tell her what it bad been in his mind to say for a long lime. 

“ Mina, listen,” he said, shutting the window and fastening the 
door. “1 am going to tell 70U ab( ut a liltle*matter which has 
heen on my mind tor some time. When you marry you come into 
£500 per annum. You don’t know the details ot my income. You 
only know that it is limited. But it is not so limited that 1 can’t 
stretch a point to make you a start in life to the extent of £500 per 
annum. Never mind where 1 get this five hundred It will come 
out ot the outer darkness cf stocks and shares. My friend Porteous 
will find it; and on your marriage-day you will start with that. 
Cheer up, girl. Great things can be done upon a limited income. 
It is possible to be happy on five hundred a year, and if you marry 
Joseph, with nothing, you will be in a position to pull his nose till 
he is able to put another five hundred a year to it. Now, don’t 
sigh and look unhappy, and— and even sob, as if 1 were announc- 
ing bad news to you.” 

“ Papa dear, 1 don’t want to pull Joseph’s nose. 1 can not think 
of your proposing to settle money on me without feeling that 1 am 
robbing you. No, 1 will not accept it. Eo not let us talk of mar- 
riage at all.” 

“ Now, Mina, you must bethink yourself that 1 am not a young 
man, that 1 am growing older every day, and as 1 desire your hap- 
piness before everything else, 1 wish you to know that 1 will be no 
permanent barrier to you in your liking for any man.” 

“ Dear papa!” said the girl, rising and crossing to the window. 
She leaned over the back of his chair. He had covered the carpet 
with ashes, and his lowered cigar had ceased to smoke. She passed 
her hand over his head. 

You are not so very old,” she murmured. 

“ Yes, as old as Corstorphine. I am frightfully, terribly old. 1 
began with the geological record. 1 am millions of years of age. 
1 am as old as my knowledge.” 


uo 


CKADLE AJS^D SPADE. 


'* But, dear papa, that still leaves you an ‘ eminent Scotch 
eheriff. ’ 

“ Don’t gibe at me, pet. I believe, though it may be a hundred 
years hence, that the book will be written.” 

**1 wasn’t gibing, papa; 1 know the book will be finished, and 
printed, and praised, a good deal sooner than you say. But you 
vex me when you talk of being old, and settling money, and sug- 
gesting marriage.” 

She still leaned over him and passed her hand through his hair. 

‘ \rhy shouldn’t 1 suggest marriace?” he asked dieamily, Are 
you like Mabel, the Queen ot the Fairies, who remained in maiden 
meditation, fancy tree, ali her life?” 

” You are confusing them,” said Mina lightly. “* Mab was not 
a fairy herself. She only helped them in their hours of regret. 
But it was quite another peison who was fancy free.” 

” Y*ou know more than 1 do,” said the sherift, relighting his 
cigar, feeeling cheered by the turn the conversation had taken. 

“ Please then, papa, accept me as a Sagacity, and don’t talk 
about money again, and marriage, knd things that dispirit me.” 

He smoked on to the end ot his cigar, opened the window and 
threw it out^ shut the prindow and leaned back in his chair. He 
tliought she would put her hand on his head again He thought 
she was still leaning over him. He shut his e3^es and conjured up 
a dream of his very old age, when either Nixon or Usher’s infants 
would be crawling about his feet and making little gurgling sounds, 
which he would reward with bits of sugar and sweet-cake. He 
thought that feeding a baby would be like feeding a little dog. 
Y'es, his work would be all over by that time. He would read ap- 
peals, ot course, till he was at the last gasp. But he would not 
write. He would content himself with alluding to ‘‘Eminent 
Scotch Sheriffs ” in the presence ot persons actively engaged in 
writing. That would be enough for disccncertment. 

” Where are you, Mina?” he asked suddenly. 

‘‘ Here, papa,” she said softly at his back. 

He tuined round and saw her leaning her brow on the pane, 
looking into the still gray of the twilight. 

‘‘ Is my friend the mavis still finding worms?” 

‘‘No; the birds are all gone to bed.” 

‘‘ Time to light up, 1 think. 1 will do it myself. 1 propose to 
institute lighting up myself. Oil is dangerous, and there may be 
an explosion. Mina, the day after to-morrow we set out on our 
travels.” 


CEADLE AKJ) SEAEE. 


241 


They met Usher at the stalion. The sheriff had not been able to 
make out which of the two young men she liked, so he invited 
Usher to the train, the evening of their departure to London en 
route for Paris. The bustle of leaving had done the girl a great 
deal of good. She was obliged tc scheme tor the condensation of 
unnumbered articles within a limited space. She had not been 
much of a traveler, and her imagination at the outset was tilled 
with no end of articles of apparel which she tesarded as essential, 
which the quantity of baggage allowed by the sheriff made impos- 
sible. To select and lejtct, consult with JNellie, and have every 
thing in its place against the houi, had kept her mind fully oc- 
cupied. At the station, however, .she was not displeased at the 
sight of Usher, anxiously looking out tor them. 

“ JNow, Frank,” said the sheriff, ” I’m going up on a little busi- 
ness to the club. I’ll just be in time to hll my flask and come bacK 
again. Bee that Mina is all right till 1 return. Cheer her up— she 
isn’t very bright.” 

He tcok her maid to a refreshment-bar and got some hot coffee; 
he took Mina into a waiting-room, and sat down beside her. 

‘‘AVe have bat a precious quarter of an hour,” he murmured, 
trying to overlook the fact that there was another occupant of the 
room, sitting anxiously among parcels, and having hour-of-depart- 
ure on (he brain. 

” It is not long.” There was a pause; he looked in her face; 
she fascinated him with a certain subdued regretfulness of expres- 
sion; and her eyes lit up gratefully as they caught the gleam of his 
own. 

” 1 hope papa won't miss the train. It is the last Scotch whisky 
he will have—what he gets at the club. Other skies, he says, other 
drinks; but he is determined to have as much as will carry him to 
Paris.” 

Usher sighed. That was dismally irrelevant. 

‘‘ AVe have only ten minutes to talk,” he said, after along pause. 

” It is not long. It was kind of you to come and see the last of 
us. 1 hcpe to be in better spirits the next time 1 see you. 1 am 
not ill, but really in want of change. Tet it was a pain to me to 
leave dear old Durie Den.” 

A porter insinuated his head, and seeing the anxious female with 
the parcels, said; 

” Here you are, ma’am. Your train’s in. Change at Granton, 
Burntisland, and Thornton Junction. Ko— we’re not allowed, 


24 :^ 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


ma’am, to take mcney; we’re paid our wages on this line.” And 
the pair disappeared. 

“ It is a grief to me that you should leave Edinburgh.” 

You take a deep interest in me. I ought to be deeply grateful. 
So indeed 1 am, Mr. Usher.” 

W by should you freeze me with a Mister? Call me Frank, 
like the sheriff. We have only seven minutes.” 

** For what?’ And she looked at him with a mischierous ex- 
pression. 

'‘For this, Mina,” and he seized her hands in his. ” For this 
1 want you to know that it is 1 who love you. 1 want you to go 
away feeling that the heart which is sore at your departure is my 
heart; that through the night watches the man who will lemaiu 
sleepless in thoughts of you— it is 1. 1 am your lover. 1 am pre- 

pared to go to the end of the earth for you, or, harder still, 1 am 
prepared to work, year after year, amidst the sccrn and sarcasms 
of the Parliament House, to get up early and go to bed late, to keep 
my own brain clear, to face the keenest inlelJects of Scotland— all, 
all that 1 may win your approval.” 

” No, not all tor that. FranR let it be; but do not say that you 
are fighting for no object but me. 1 should be miserable in the 
thought of it. Let my left hand go, Frank. 1 do net know my 
own mind.” 

” Then let me know it for you. Let me tell you what it is.” 

A porter put in his head again, and withdrew it as if he had been 
shot, owing to the glance of scorn cast at him by the advocate. 

‘‘ Hal Frank, my boy. I’ve filled my flask, and am back in 
plenty of time. Plenty of time, did 1 say? "Well, three minutes. 
We’d better go. 'Where’s Nellie?” 

Eeluctantly Usher went for the maid, and the sheriff and Mina 
got into their carriage. 

‘‘ I wish you were coming alcng. We want somebody to do the 
grand courier for us. 1 am weak in linguistics,” remaiked the 
sheriff, with his head out. 

” You have said ‘ good-bye,’ of course?” he added, as the train 
moved off. 

” No,” said Usher in desperation, getting on the footboard. 

” Don’t do that, Prank. Stand down, man. Here, Mina, say 
good-bye.” 

Mina put down her head, and Usher snatched a kiss as the train 
moved out of the station. 

**#«•** 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


243 


The sherifi did not ste the meeting of heads. It was as instan- 
taneous as electricity, and the shock on Mina’s part was not much 
short of a thunder-bolt. The sherifE and she were traveling alone. 
She sat down at a window — looking out toward the sea, or such 
parts of the sea as might be revealed on their way toward the 
Border. She had not crossed it before. It was a tremendous ex- 
perience for her. Had she been a Scotch boy. she would have been 
^ prepared, miles before she reached the old line of national hates, to 
clinch her fist at the window of her carriage and murmur “Jock 
Pudding at the sight of the first English porter. She would have 
irreverently derided his self assertive manner, and compared it un- 
favorably with the last Scotch porter on the other side of the border, 
who announced the name of his station as it it w'cre a tact which 
admitted of controversial suggestions, to which his mind was open, 
not because suggestions could convince him, but because he was 
in a fool of a world, where a man must needs have an open ear, 
especially a public man on a platform, carrying a bell. She was 
not a Scotch boy, however; she was a girl, and the whirling of the 
train seemed to her, in a vague, strange way, to furnish suggestions 
of going home. Home to the parents she did not know. Home 
to the origin she had not probed. Here and there on her way to 
Newcastle, tracts of sea opened out before her, with the moonlight * 
tipping the waves. She sighed as she looked at them, and turned 
to speak to the sheriff. But the sherifE was fast asleep at the other 
end of the carriage, with his legs stretched from side to side. He 
slept sound all through the night, while Mina gazed upon the 
changing features of the English landscape, as morning came in, 
surprised and delighted with long tracts of meadow, circling wind- 
mills, cozy manor-houses, sleek cattle. Yes, that was like going 
home. But what would Paris be like? 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

CHANGE SWEETHEARTS. 

Elspeth stayed on at Nancy’s hostelry, and liked it. She 
thought Nancy very good to her, and expostulated with her for Hie 
hours she devoted to her service. It was too kind of her, she in- 
slsled, to fit up her grand room and furnish her with magnificent 
dresses— -they w’ere very simple in reality — and wait upon herself, 
morning, noon, and night. “ One would think, Nancy,’’ she said 


244 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


on one occasion, “ that no person was ever in danger befoie. Dear 
me, it’s not so very awful, after all, to be at death’s door. When 
you are there, you are reconciled to it. 1 think nothing’s so awful 
as we think it is beforehand.” 

“ That’s your pluck,” said Nancy. ” But say yon not another 
word about, me and my attendance, Elspeth Gun. It’s my pleas- 
ure, and may be 1 think it’s my duty to attend 3 ^e. And ye’ll no 
be regrettin’ it.” 

Elspeth was surprised that she had so little feeling of regiet in 
her removal from the mountain-side. She liked the bustle of the 
arriving and departing coaches. She liked to go out and about and 
talk to the fishermen. She enjoyed the Sunday at church, though 
the Rev. Mr. Johnson’s voice had an effect very soporific to most 
of his hearers. It amused her to overhear people say, when they 
were coming out, ” What 3 "oung lady is ihat staying with Mrs. 
Harper?” Yet she did not lose her simplicity; thougU w Hen she 
was addressed by personages like the hill farmer’s wife from be- 
yond the grave yard, she answered with an uncommon equality of 
tone. 4 hey knew so little of her when Nancy introduced her to 
the walclimaker’s wife or the daughter of the great general mer- 
chant in the Square, that they thought she must be one of the sub- 
stantial Guns at the other end ct the county, whose father had given 
up a collectorship in the customs and taken to gentleman-farming. 
She was, accordingly, invited to a variety of sumptuous teas; but 
Nancy would not accept these little parties for her. 

” No, girl, they’ll just badger ye.” And Elspeth contented her- 
self with ” busking ” books as an amusement, learned to play 
” draughts,” read with great eagerness son^e volumes of Scott and 
Defoe she found on a shelf, and her time passed rather easily. 

” Girl,” said Nancy, ” you’re a great favorite. D'ye know 1 be- 
lieve 3 "e could do great good on the shore. There’s a coast mis- 
sionary down there sometimes; but he dees nothing but preach. 
I’m not blaming him; but it you could speak to some of them about 
the folly of this gold, it might save many a poor family from want. 
They’re making no preparation for theii fishing this year at all. 
Now, look out at that window. Count the boats on the beach, 
neither calked nor painted, blistering there in the sun, and all be- 
cause our fishermen have lost their heads on account of the talk of 
the towm.” 

‘‘ And what’s the talk of the town?” 

” Just that Mr. Russell brings into the bank night after night lit- 
tle pocketfuls of gold. Y*e ken they have machinery up now% and 


CRADLE AKD SPADE, 


245 


it seems Rutlder&dale is a precious Jand— a kind ot .Canaan, Mr. 
Johnson says, overflowins; wi’ milk and honey.” 

‘ Then what’s the liaim, Nancy?” 

” 1 have my suspicions, girl, that where Roderick Leslie says 
there’s gold there’s nothing but cbeatery and dirt. 1 don’t believe 
in it, not 1; not thounh you, dear lassie, were the first to find it.” 

” You're hard on Roderick.” 

‘‘ Yes, I'm hard on him.” 

“ 1 wonder what Mr. Nixon thinks about it?” 

” We’ll soon hear. He'll be coming in to see me.” 

” 1 have some go ^d flies for him when he does come.” 

‘‘ Well, girl, in the meantime 1 wish you would call at some of 
the fishermen’s homes, where they weave and mend their own 
nets, and tell them that it’s your opinion they should be painting 
their boats and calking them, and not sitting down thinking and 
talking and dreaming about gold that they can never get. Look 
out there. ISee the whales! See them spouting! I’ve Known the 
tiiiie o’ day when every w^ash-tub on the ccast would be at sea 
on the chase, till the fish in front of these spouting animals were 
safe and sound inside the nets and barrels. But, bless me! the 
day they have lost their heads.” 

Elppeth made several calls on the back of Nancy’s speech. She 
w’ent down to the pier, too, and the fishermen had not the least ob- 
jection in the world to her representing to them that they should 
not neglect their fishing for the gold. 

‘‘ What’s the use o’ fishing?” asked the man with whom Nixen 
had once gone out; ” what’s the use o’ fishing when there’s a wind- 
fall coming to the town?” 

But you’re not sure yet.” 

” But we believe.’" 

” That’s faith without wmrks, as Mr. Johnson says.” 

” Well, it saves a deal o’ trouble.” 

” But it may starve your babes?” 

‘‘We’ll risk it.” 

And the fishermen lounged from the pier to their homes; sailed 
out into the bay as little as possible, fathering immense finds upon 
the community at the diggings, and anticipating that the sky 
would fall, if not to-day, to morrow or the day after. The sky, 
however, continued to overarch Kuddersdale and the horizon, and 
the working community went from bad to worse, excusing them- 
selves by the glory ot anticipation, and neglecting the great op- 
portunities which the whales show'ed them they possessed between 


246 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


the “ stacks ” and the shore. Ihey would have gold tor the lift- 
ing, not for the working. The St&ck Exchange was nothing to it; 
the National Lottery was nothing to it; they opened their mouths, 
and thought Heaven would drop plenty down their throats. 

Nixon did not come just when Nancy said he would. Elspeth 
sighed day after day for a sight of him. IShe wanted to make her 
little present, and she had a dim idea that in her new apparel she 
must look more attractive to him. She hoped she would. She 
wished to be attractive to him. She knew, instinctively, that a lit- 
tle ago she had been very rustic and open air-like. Now It was 
different. She had seen people buy things in the shops. She had 
been to church, and knew how they held their psalm-books, and 
how they followed the “ line ” when the precentor gave it out. 
Timothy Tightbreeks, indeed, her young friend, had not shown her 
a good example, tor in the overcrowded green pew of the Rev. Mr. 
Johnson, Timothy distinguished himself by putting his thumb to 
his noseat impressive portions of his father’s sermon, and other- 
wise behaved himself as a monkey rather than a boy, which also 
did other boys, in imitation of him, in other pews. And Elspeth, 
hearing appeals from the pulpit involving consequences incalculable 
throughout all time for such actions as Timothy was performing, 
looked at him with a puzzled feeling of his being doomed to a fear- 
ful fate of toiture, reaching down futurity till 'her mind lost hold 
of it. Yet, with the penalty loaring over his head, she rather liked 
the boy for the audacity of his defiance. It was thus that she 
learned the way of the world. 

“ 1 would like to see the diggings,” she said to Nancy, as Mr. 
Laggan was dining in his room one day. 

‘‘ Mr. Laggan,” said Nancy, ” here’s a young lady friend of my 
own would like to be set down at the cross-roads. There’s my 
phaeton coming hack, Miss Gun, from Oiley about nine o'clock. 
You can return from that. Do you think you have room lor her 
so far, Mr. Laggan?” 

” Rooml” said the guard. ‘‘ 1 have six seats for her if she likes 
to take them. No inside to-day at all. We’ll be glad to have jmu, 
my dear young lady.” 

As the coach rolled down the road, the guard, with the courtesy 
of one of the great-grandfathers of the duties w’ho owned the ter- 
ritory on either side of the Rudder, showed her into her seat, and, 
horn in hand, ascended to hia chair. 

The coach went off at a great rate, and Elspeth had not long felt 
herself happy among the cushions before it stopped, and the guard, 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


24 ? 


Still with the manner of a polite ancestor, set her down on the gray 
road. 

“ Take care of yourself, my dear young lady. They are rough,*’ 
he said, waving his hand and blowing his horu in honor of her. 

But Elspeth did not know what roughness was. She had been 
on the hills all her life, and the only loughness was that of storms 
and streams. No living thing had ever crossed her. It was with 
something like surprise, therefore, when she had ascended the road 
from the shore tovNard the diggings, that she was accosted by a tall 
man with a black beard as it she had known him all her life. 

“ How am 1?'* she asked in reply to a question, “ Very well, 
thank you. And am 1 on my road to the gold-fields?” 

fie laughed and said ” Yes;” adding. ” Don’t go on so fast. 
You won’t meet another like me all the hill over.” 

” Very likely not.” 

” You’re saucy.” 

Good-afternoon to you.” 

‘‘ Y’ou'ie awfully saucy.” 

“Now 1 know my way alone, if you please.” 

” And as beautitul as day. Why should 1 go on to Ruddersdale 
when you are here?” 

‘‘ Kindly let me pass, sir.” 

** 1 was going into my sweetheart; but, lor’ bless you, one’s as 
good’s another, and a great deal better, when 1 see you.” 

” I am going to the gold-fields.” 

‘‘ I’m coming from them. Now, miss, sit down on this mile- 
steme, and put your hand on your heart, and swear you weren’t 
coming out to meet me, Philip Stryde, and if you do it without 
blushing, I’ll lake my arm from round your waist.” 

‘‘You’ll never put it there, 1 assure you.” 

‘‘ Won’t J, girl? Won’t I?” and he seized her roughly by the 
waist. 

‘‘Hold hard!” cried a voice from the top of the road, at the side 
of a plantation. 

‘‘ ahe’s mine,” said Philip, holding on, while the girl unloosed 
one of his fists and flung it away. 

•* Hands off!” cried the voice, and Nixon, like an engine with 
full steam on, charged down the road. 

‘‘ Chum, 1 say she’s mine,” cried the man with the black beard. 

” Chum, I’ll punish you, if you don’t begin to see your error in 
less than no time.” 

‘‘ Not for you.” 


248 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Hands off, 1 say!” roared Nixon, seizing him by the shoulder, 
and wheeling him round as if he had been a top. 

” Hands on,” says Piiilip, delivering a blow on the chest (o the 
new arrival. 

Nixon did not reply with blow tor blow, but stooping, seized his 
adversary by the lefi leg, and shot him some yards acioss the 
road into a morass, where his head went into a soft sjfot with the 
sucking sound of a quagmire. He drew himselt out blinking and 
humiliated. 

‘‘ 1 suppose you’re going into Ruddersdale?” said Nixon se- 
verely, waiting for another assault. 

” I fancy 1 am,” said Philip; and Elspeth, who had witnessed 
the whole scene with a tear in her eye and parted lips, began to 
breathe freely. 

‘‘ Joseph Nixon, she said, ” 1 came out to give you some flies 
1 had made, and if 1 thought it would have led to this 1 wmuld 
have been very sorry.” 

Nixon put out his hand and thrust her wrist within his right arm„ 

“ He will be none the worse of his stumble,” he exclaimed. 
” Come and sit down. 1 was coming into town.” 

They walked up the road, and Elspeth standing for a moment 
to recover her breath, he led her into a clump of trees, and they sat 
dowm on the low outspread branch of an ash. 

‘‘ It will hold us perfectly,” he said, putting out his arms to 
suppoit her. 

“ There are the flies,” said Elspeth, bringing out a little cotton 
purse of her own sewing and a collection of flies exquisitely made. 

‘‘ Made for me?” 

‘‘ For no other.” 

“By you?” 

‘‘ By me.” 

The branch cracked, and they rose to their feet. Then there was 
a low murmur of expostulation on Elspeth’s part. Nixou had his 
arms about her. He was kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth, 
her hair. 

You came,” she said, gasping and slightly pushing him away 
from her, ‘‘ ycu came to find your love.” 

‘‘And 1 have found— I have found— that 1 am not a faithful 
man,” he replied, retiring from her. He glanced at her, as if he 
hated her. She resented the look, and drawing herself up, ex- 
claimed : — 

” Joseph Nixon, if X was grateful to you for saving my life and 


OK ABLE AKD SPADE. 


349 


tor punishing one who would have faigotten that I was not so 
strong as he was, 1 have given you no cause tor regret,” 

It is my own doing.” 

Elspeth leaned against the tree, and her glance again oveipowered 
him. 

‘‘It is not as it was,” he said hurriedly. 1 am master here* 
1 would rather marry -1 would rather love—the shepherd-girl than 
the daughter of the sheriff.” 

‘‘ Gently, Mr. Nixon. 1 will go home again to Nancy.” 

‘‘ And you shall have my protection.” 

At the corner ot the raad he kissed her again, and assured her 
that he was not a iaiiUtul man. 

‘‘ Then j^ou cught tc be ashamed of yourself,” said Elspetn, 
looking up in his face and clinging to his arm. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

ABROAD. 

The sheiifl had reason to thank his stars that he had laken Alina 
abroad. She kept up all the way to Calais, but they were not three 
hours on their journey from there before she broke down, and he 
•was obliged at one of the intermediate stations to have her maid 
into the carriage, and to take the maid’s seat behind. He thought 
all the way to the St. Lazare station how unintelligible women 
were. Mina made no complaints, 3'et she was ill. He thought it 
was Joseph that was the matter with her, and mentioned him re- 
spectfully, when she went off into Hysterics. He soothingly alluded 
to Frank, and she only pouted. ” Leave me, dear papa,” she had 
pleaded, and he was glad to leave her with her maid. She came 
out at Paris very weak and sickly, and ho had to take the neai’est 
hotel, though he would have preferred to go down to the banks of 
the Seine, to an old haunt of his own, overlooking the Tuilerics 
gardens. And she lay in her room tor a week, unable to move; 
though she declined to see a doctor even when he was brought to 
her room doer. The sheiiff had to bring him bis tee outside, sit- 
ting at a little table, where they discussed fresh lemonade together, 
and was unreasonably consoled by a man who had never seen his 
patient explaining that there was nothing the matter, except a 
phrase which, rendered into English, meant pure ‘‘cussedness.” 
But iDure ” cussedness ” may be heard in the soft lingo ot the Seine 


250 


CRADLE AKD BPADE, 


without retaliation. Ihe sherifil congratulated himselt that it 
was nothing more serious, and began loithwith to arrange his plans 
for a lengthened stay. The first question to be attended to was of 
course Mina’s health— he had come tor that; but in the second 
place he meant to unite with his attention to her a little study, and 
with that object he strolled one forenoon to the English Embassy, 
got an introduction to the Imperial Library, and amused himself 
for a little in the Rue Richeiiu with turning over books. Before 
Mina recovered, too, he visited the old quarters at the Rue de Rivoli, 
took rooms for himself and his ward and her maid, and bribed the 
porter a little. He even sat down in the flowered court of the 
inn, had something at a table, and talked politics with an Ameri- 
can, before he took his goods and chattels into the place. The first 
day Mina went out was a joy to him, after they shifted to the H6- 
tel de Rivoli. She seemed to realize for the first time that they had 
got to Paris, though he did not cany her very far— only across 
the road to the Tuileries gardens, where a military band was 
amusing a crowd of quiet, decorous, contented citizens, who sat, 
to the number of about a couple of hundred, enjoying the melody 
which stole up among the trees. 

“ Papa, how is it tnat 1 begin to feel as if 1 were a country girl?’' 
said Mina, as they took their place amcng the sitting crowd. 

“ 1 don’t know. Why should you, coming from an ancient 
capital like Edinburgh? It’s as near the center of the universe as 
Paris.” 

“ Perhaps it is; but there seeros to me to be a common under- 
standing among them. “What is it? Is there something about my 
dress that suggests the rustic? Or is your coat hyperborean?” 

‘‘You are nervous, Mina. There is no difference between us and 
them, except that we are superior beings. Always remember that 
one of their queens was glad to marry into our kingdom.” 

” Don’t allude to her again, papa dear.” 

*‘ Allude to whom?” 

‘‘ Her — the Scotch reformation and all that.” 

‘‘My poor girl, you are cross. Listen: tvhat music! It’s that 
sinner Offenbach. 1 saw him sipping an ice at TL'ortoni’s the other 
evening. Knew him from his photograph at once. Might have 
been one of our lairds who liad resigned a commissiou in the army 
twenty years ago, and still retained a soiipgon of the army smart' 
ness.” 

*' To judge from these sounds 1 should think he was a man who 
stood on his head all the time he was composing.” 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


251 


** Afterward, perhaps he does.” 

Mina sat with her eyes closed. £^he "was thinking of Joseph in 
the tree, and Frank on the footboard of the depaiting train, yhe 
had had a long letter from Frank, written with beautiful ])athoa 
and commanding eloquence, and she did not know what to con- 
clude. According to the code of the romances, she ought to have 
spurned him. She ought to have made up her mind to wait— wait 
till she was old and gray and useless, for the beautiful lover to 
turn up. But being a young lady, abroad in the year 186-, she 
wondered if her frail heart had not originally deceived her. She 
opened her eyes again, the mad music still vibrating through the 
gardens, and noticed the sheriff earnestly gazing at a figure leaning 
on a tree outside the sitting group. He had his hands in his pock- 
ets, and seemed, from an almost indiscernible movement of his 
head, to be greatly enjoying the music. In a moment or two he 
became an object of interest to everybody within reach of him. 

” Is it Offenbach, I wonder?” asked Mina. 

” No, it isn’t Offenbach. Curiously enough, 1 happen to know 
who it is, 1 presented a letter yesterday at a Mr, Cremieux’s and 
he was just bidding that young fellow ‘ good-day.’ The moment 
he left the house he turned to me ami said: 

” ‘ Did you see him? Did you note him?’ 

Yes,’ I said, ‘1 saw him. This is a letter from Lord Strav- 
en, of the Outer House, Ccurt of Session, Scotland, who, 1 be- 
lieve, upon one occasion dined with you, Mr. Cremieux, though 
he has no sympathy with revolutionary movements?' It made no 
impressicn on him whatever, though 1 flatter myself 1 did not 
make a single mistake in my French. He only shoved his arm into 
mine and drew me to a window, exclaiming: ‘ He has raised Paris, 
Europe is talking of him— has been, all spring. He browbeat Deles- 
vaux, and defied the Empire.’ And, by Jove! it’s true. The 
papers have been full of it all the year. His name is Gambetia. 
lie’s a lawyer. I’m proud to say. I’ve a good mind to go over 
and speak to him, though I’m rather imperial in my sympathies 
You know the empress came from the south of Scotland.” 

” He certainly is creating a great interest in the gardens,” said 
Mina, profoundly interested in the easj figure at the tree, who 
seemed charged with any amount of suppressed cordiality. 

‘‘Ah, he’s gone. 1 can’t speak to him now,” said the sheriff, 
as the man, being observed, disappeared at a swing to one of the 
gates, cariying with him a melody of Offenbach’s, as it appeared 
from the rotundity of his lips. 


252 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


Gambeltal’' resounded from row afcer row of seats; some of 
the tones being angry, others communicative. 

“I’m afraid he’s a humbugging revolutionist.” murmured the 
sheiiff, turning to listen to a madder tune than the last. 

One concert in the gardens was enough for Mina that dav. She 
said she would not go out again. Bo he went out himself, cigar in 
mouth. He had not^one far along the Eiio de Rivoli before he 
noticed a shop with all the English magazines in it. It was Galig- 
nani’s. 

” Galignani’s?” he asked himself. “Yes, ot course; my old 
friend, the correspondent ot the ‘ Caledonian,’ is here. He wrote 
all Scott's later novels, Tc be su-e, 1 remember. Perhaps i( ac- 
counts for the falling off in these works, 1 must looK him up.” 

He went and took a ticket fer the reading-room for a couple ot 
months; vent into the room itself, a cozy, cushioned place, with 
German, American, English, and French newspapers ranged about. 
A tidy little woman from a desk in a dooi-way came in and said 
they “did not smoke,” He rose and pitched his cigar avvaj^ at 
an open door, read for a quarter of an heur, and went out along 
the Place de la Concorde He had more than a dozen undelivered 
letters of introduction to people about the Champs El3’sees streets. 
As yet he had not made up liis mind whom he would call upon, 
or whether he would cah upon them at all. Perhaps he might go 
further south, to the shores of the Mediterranean, in which case it 
would be no use knocking up toe many temporary acquaintance 
ships. On the wliole, he thought he would avoid all English- 
speaking friends and stick tc his French introductions. The 
French ones he was sure would lead to nothing more than a super- 
ficial interchange of courtesies The English ones would proba- 
bly. in cne case out of a dozen, lead to the asking ot a serious 
favor, which was a bore to a judge. Besides, he never asked fa- 
vors himself, thanks to his uncle’s oil-works. He strolled into 
the Champs Elysets, and saw the cariiages ceme back from the 
Bois de Boulogne six deep he stood in front of little puppet-shows 
and laughed at dirty little marionettes making practical jokes, 
which were only allowable in Scotland in the conversation of old 
gentlemen discussing the eaily memories of a youth extending to 
the verge of another and a freer century. Still, some ot the ideas 
were as fresh as ever, and he laughed as he sauntered past, con- 
gratulating himself on the advanced civilization of the country he 
had left, which would not have tolerated such exhibitions in public. 
He walked a long way up among the trees toward the Triumphal 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


253 


Alch, and saw the emperor and his wife come down. Nobody 
paid any attention to them. No hats were lifted. There were some 
little sounds of “ Badinguet !’' The empiess looked at him, and lie 
bowed, thinking, “ after all, she is a Scotch lassie. 1 rather 
think if 1 begin to count my kith and kin that I’m a cousin ot hers. 
Net a full cousin to bo sure, but a relation anyway, She’s nice- 
looking. My friends, the passing Mossoos, might have more gal- 
lantry.” And he sat down on the outermost chair of a cafe whose 
dominion extended far out into the trees. 

He sat, and the waiter brought him a paper, and took his orders 
for an inoffensive drink. 

” Compagnie d’Oi,” he read, and without moving his eyes from 
the page, made out that a company had been started for woraing 
the precious metals on the estate of Ruddersdale, Scotland, He 
saw the name of the men who were working it, conspicuously one 
M. Roderick, on the spot, who would turnish information to any- 
body who wanted it. He read the name of his own broker, Porle- 
ous, and recognized from the last sentence of the announcement 
that the gold-mining in his country was ardently believed in. 

” How d’ye do, sheriff?” exclaimed a familiar voice, and look 
ing up, the sheriff saw the veritable Porteous, smoking a cigar, 
dressed in full Parisian costume, accompanied by a statesmanlike 
person with a black mustache, and an apologetic manner about 
him. They had come down out ot a carriage. 

” Well, Porteous, this is great news.” 

“ Toil have seen it?” 

“Yes.” 

” What do you think of it?” 

” That wonders will never cedSe.” 

‘‘ It’s a fact, however: Leslie’s finding gold. That’s my mission 
here. I’m seeing the, thing through.” 

” Aud you believe in it?” 

” 1 do.” 

” Are all the shares taken up?” 

‘‘No, not all.” 

” You might buy me one or two.” 

” How many?” 

‘‘ Exercise your own discretion. Enough to allow me to say when 
I am here that 1 am a gold-owner in my own country and in my 
own county.” 

The broker smiled grimly, made a note of the request, and the 
conversation became general. His French friend talked English, 


254 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


without much ot an accent, and said he was delighted that th > 
French mint was to be swollen trom Scotland. Scotland and 
Fiance had always been on good terras. A has Jonc Bcoii Scot 
land was an old ally. 

They talked for a full halt hour, discussing the empire, the 
Parisian giving it as his opinion that it was on its last hgs, and 
that if Napoleon did not annex Europe, like his uncle, he had no 
chance of maintaining his popularity. Still, d has Jone Bool? and 
Vive the Compagnie d’Ort 


CHAPTER L. 

MADNESS. 

When is a man mad? The question has yet to be decided. 
When is he going mad? That is equally difficult to tell Roderick 
Leslie’s clerks saw him entering his room in the morning half an 
hour after they had begun he business of the bank. They remarked 
that he was more irritable than he had ever been before. They 
saw that he savagely closed accounts overdrawn by ninepence, and 
testily reminded persons who were drawing near the verge ot their 
deposits ot their dangerous proximity. When his door was half 
open, too, it was noted that he said “ police!’' and other things of 
a strange character to himself; that he would sometimes keep up 
long conversations with nobody, and end them with an abrupt peal 
ot laughter. It was not, however, suggested that the man was mad. 
Yet he had hia dangerous moments, and the maddening habit of 
excessive drink grew upon him. He had succeeded and failed at 
the same lime. He had launched his mine, and it was taken up in 
Paris; he meant to realize every share he hud in the course of the 
summer. What did it matter w hat a Frenchman or body of French- 
men might suffer? And he also meant to retain his hold upon Rud- 
dersdale; but the innkeeper’s behavior was inexplicable, she and 
Nixon at the mines stood between him and a prospect ot honorable 
decline to the grave. He would like to die honorably. He had 
been a respectable and respected man all his life. He meant to have 
a large sorrowful crowd at his funeral. But he began to believe 
that if he w'eie to die honorably and have a tombstone and all that, 
one or two other people must die suddenly, or go out of the road. 
He decided that he must have another interview’ with Nancy 
Nancy w’as harKing back on the past, and setting herself to thwart 


255 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 

him. But thwarted he would not he. No, by Heaven! not by an 
old seivant, or a young miner, or the giil fiom the shieling— not 
he; and they were his enemies, the only ones that stood between 
him and success, and peace and quiet. Nancy, however, would 
not see him alone. She would not come to him when he asked 
her. She afiected religion, forsooth! Religion and a desire to do 
the light! When he called on her she led him into the room with 
the young person from Cnoc Dhu, and her patronage of him became 
altogether intolerable. When is a man mad? When he wants to 
commit murder is possibly the safest answer, and Leslie on that 
theory was certainly as mad as a March hare. He wished, in these 
moments, when he had finished business or was alone, to murder 
Nancy, to murder Elspeth, to murder Nixon. The desire grew on 
him. It became a passion, and if any of the village loungers had 
been given to studying shadows on a blind, they might have judged 
from the hysterical movements of the shadow on Leslie’s blind that 
the substance behind it meant no good to some of his fellow-creat- 
ures. l^et throughout the growing desire to smash and terminate, 
he still held one or tw'o fixed ideas of personal safety— the desire 
to make suflacienl fortune to run away with if possible, as a last 
resort; the desire, above all, to remain king of the land on which he 
had been since early boyhood. The end was clear enough; the 
means were not so clear. Yet he did not shrink, if the worst must 
come to the worst, from using the most sanguinary means. So a 
cloud, all unknown to them, hung round the lives ot Nixon, Els- 
peth, and Nancy, unknown but not unsuspected to the latter, who 
drew no line upon what the factor might do as a very last resort 
to his desperation. Yet she read with some hope a little note that 
w'as brought to her cne day after she had half a dozen times de- 
clined to meet Roderick. 

Ihe note ran 

“ Dear Mrs. Harper,— The Rev. Mr Johnson and a few 
friends well known to you propose to take supper with me to- 
night. Y’ou will understand, for reasons well known lo you, that 
it Ts time ycu and 1 were meeting these people at my table. Come 
hy yourself to night. At an early date you will bring your young 
friend. 

“ Roderick Leslie.** 

And Nancy, looking at the little letter, thought. “ Ah! he is soft- 
ening. He is improving. He wants to do justice at last. Poor 
man. Roderick! May be he had no ( pportunity before.” 

She left Elspeth with reluctance, but went in her widow’s weeds 


256 CKADLE AKT) SPADE. 

to meet the minister and the other triends at Roderick’s, but was 
sufficiently surprised when she w'as put into a room where there 
was no other body but the factor. The old woman was a little 
afraid of him. Not that she put any special value on her life, but 
there was vitality about her life, within death-like, dried-up mus- 
cles and nerves, any amount of it, and vitality that wanted to pro- 
long itself as much as possible. 

The factcr closed the door on her as she came in, closed it, and 
peiemptorily motioned her to a chair. 

“ 1 thought better of you,” said Nanc5^ taking her chair with a 
demure look, and seeing at a glance that no preparations had been 
made for the reception of other guests. 

Roderick turned the key in the door, and paced up and down 
like a wild animaU 

“ Nancy,” he said, stopping in front of her with a tearful voice, 

Nancy, you are betraying me You are wishing to ruin me; you 
are forgetting old times.” 

He spoke softly, In a style that Nancy had not heard, year aftei 
year, since he was a young man. He was positively imploring her 

‘‘Mr. Leslie,” she said, ‘‘in those days when I lent j'ou my 
assistance I was younger than 1 am now; but 1 did evil that good 
might come, and 1 trusted that you would bring round the good 
•when the day airived that such was to be.” 

‘‘It’s coming,” he said bitterly; ‘‘it’s coming. It will be ail 
right enough. Everybody will have their o’wm. Don’t huriy; don’t 
w^orry. Leave it to me.” 

‘‘I’m pieparing,” she told him decisively, “to bring Ihe day 
round myself. Rodeiick Leslie, you’ve no desire to do the right; 
hut 1 warn ye, whatever the consequences may be to you or me, 
the right will be done. Sir Thomas will come no more home to his 
own, but Sir Thomas’s true heir will go up into the house of Dun- 
beath and take possession in my good time, which will not be long 
now.” 

He sunk into a chair with apparent exhaustion, and during a long 
interval twirled his thumbs, and looked at her pitifully. 

The resolution in the little innkeeper’s voice and face cowed him. 
She was sorry for his weakness. She altered the tone of her voice, 
and said — 

‘‘ The evil is done, but the good need not be hindered.” 

‘‘ Y'ou are trying to betray me,” he replied. ‘‘ You sent on to 
the sheriff of the county what might be a bit of evidence that would 
hang you and me. You posted some o’ these things— some c’ those 


CRADLE A XI) SHADE. 2^)7 

bits o’ parchment. You needn’t deny it — he showed me your hand- 
writing.” 

” They came back again,” said !Nancy, ruefully. 

” And what good do ye suppose they would dc to anybody?* 

‘‘1 recall the day, Roderick— the dawn o’ day when that bate 
came into the world, and 1 recall the hour w’hen you came with a 
handful of papers in your hand, and tore up one of them in shreds, 
and parted the shreds among the babe’s clothes; and when 1 asked 
ye what the meaning of it was, you said, ‘ Leave it all to me, 
Isancy.’ But now a higher than you has opened my eves, a higher 
than you has helped me to see that you w'ere playing a devil’s 
game, and that you had no intention tc do the right ; and 1 sent one 
of the shreds to the sheriff of the county, and he sent it back— yes, 
but to the young gentleman that was boarding with me— to Mr. 
Nixon- and the papers concern irim, and he’s a lawyer, and he’ll 
find out everything.” 

Roderick rose, expanded his chest, and threw out a great bray- 
ing laugh. 

” You’re laughin’ now.” 

‘ Y'ou would laugh loo, you old fool, if you knew the quantity 
of dust I’ve thrown in their eyes. And they’ll have tc take more 
of it— more of it— gold-dust— dust they will have to pay for— with- 
out any gold in it. Ha, ha, kaP' 

He had recovered himsell to a sort of frenzy. 

” Yes,’' he continued. ” Dust in their eyes! If you could only 
know the castles in the air they have been building on these bits ot 
parchment. But you, she-devil that you are, must needs come 
with a new bit, and throw’^ light on everything, shift the ground cf 
the reasoning of the most enlightened minds at the bar of Edin- 
burgh which assigned a kingdom to Miss Durie. on the basis of the 
parchments, till they rearranged it in favor ot quite another person.” 

'* Ay, to Mr. Nixon, I’ll warrant.” 

” Y’es, Mr. Nixon.” 

* * * * 

While they conversed Nixon had come in from the diggings, and 
was shown straight up to Elspeth’s silting loom, in Nancy’s inn. 
He was a melancholy-looking man- stricken with the appearance 
of remorse and desperation. Not that he regretted the labor of the 
diggings; but he had come into unpleasant relations with the body 
ot the miners on account of his treatment of Stryde. Stryde com- 
plained that, having found a sweetheart on the road, he was fle 
prived of her company in a summary fashion by Nixon. Nixon 


ORA I) I. K AKT) SPADE. 


had assaulted hirHs therefore Nixon must fight. RusseJl tried to 
heal the breach, but it was to no purpose The miners were unani- 
mously in favor of seeing who was the better man, 

* I'm not going to amuse you by a piize-fight," said Nixon. 
“ 1 will not fight, but 1 give you fair warning that 1 will protect 
myself against blows from any one." He would enter no ring 
formed by the miners; on Ihe contrary, he sat down on a ridge of 
grass and took out his pipe, whereupon Stryde, approaching, pushed 
him with his foot. 

“ iou did that unintentionally, 1 presume?" murmured Joseph, 
looking up, his eyes flashing. 

“ That time yes. This time 1 intended it," as he approached 
with the object of repeating the aggravation. But springing to his 
legs, Nixon hit him a full right-hand blow on the jaw; his mouth 
filled with blood; he fainted sick into the arms of a man behind 
him. 

" He don’t deserve any sympathy," cried Armstrong, who had 
been the loudest in provoking the fight. ‘‘ He brought it on him- 
self." And Nixon resumed his seat. 

It imbittered him, however; and his own behavior in regard to 
Elspeth imbittered him still more. 

When she saw him coming into the room, she rose from her seat 
at the window, where she was deep in the perusal of a romance; 
her face lightened as she advanced to him, shyly enough, but with 
so much gladness of welcome in her aspect, that he hung down his 
head when he took her hand. He believed himself to be the mas- 
ter of the surrounding property, yet, in spite of that assumption of 
territorial possession, or the steps he meant to take in order to as- 
sure himself of his position, he slightly quailed before her. 

‘‘ And have you tried them?" were her first words of welcome. 

‘‘Tried what. Miss Gun?" 

‘‘ The flies 1 gave you." 

"Yes; and on the Cranberry filled my basket thrice. They aie 
irresistible. The trout go mad ever them. They are the deadliest 
that ever went on to a casting-line." 

" 1 thought you would like them; but you are not looking like 
yourself.” 

"We are each unlike ourselves, I think, since that fatal after- 
noon when you led me to the heights above your father’s shieling." 

She looked at him with a glance of repressed affection, and said, 
"You're not grieving that we’ve been thrown together, and that 
\>j chance you’ve been of much service to me?" 


CEADLE AND SPADE. 


251 ) 

** ^ 10 , 1 shall never regret that; but— why should 1 attempt to 
explain? 1 have been a f{ ol. You know why 1 came here?” 

‘‘ Yes, yes; and I’ll help you— I’ll help you to find your love.” 
But the girl’s eyes filled with tears as she turned to look out on the 
Mai nock Firth. 

” Elspeth,” he said, touched by the sorrowful expression which 
came into her eyes, ” tell me that you forgive me.” 

” For what?” she asked, with her face halt turned to him. 

‘‘ You do forgive me?” and he held both her hanas in his own. 
He pressed them fervent I 3 ' as he lepeated his question. 

‘‘ 1 would be sorry that you should regret anything that hap- 
pened to you in your conversation with me.” 

‘‘ Heavens!” he exclaimed. ” 1 begin to doubt if 1 ever loved 
her at all. Elspeth, can a man love two girls at once?” 

” That’s more than I can say, though. But 1 think no girl can 
love more than one man at a time.” He dropped her hands. He 
was in danger. He abruptly changed the conversation with the 
announcement, ” I’m leaving the diggings. 1 believe it’s all hum- 
bug. I have no belief in the gold.” 

” Couldn’t ye be a shepherd, then, or a fisherman?” 

‘‘ If 1 knew what 1 was about 1 would fiy the country altogether, 
and never come back again at all.” 

” But you won’t do that?” 

” No, 1 suppose 1 won’t.” 

” And see the good ye might do if ye became a fisherman; they’re 
all sitting idle. They won’t fish. They are waiting, waiting for 
what may never turn up.” 

“If it’s gold they’re waiting for, J’m very sure it never will. 
Come, Elspeth, you will hardly speak to me if you see me in a sou’- 
wester coming ashore from my nets— eh?” 

‘‘ 1 would speak to you whatever you did.” 


CHAPTER LI. 

WICKEDNESS. 

Paris agreed with the sheriff. It agreed with his ward, too, 
and he felt that only one thing was wanted to her complete recov- 
ery— that her sweetheart should come upon the scene and claim 
her. He did not care which, provided it was the man she loved. 
He did not know how nearly her restoration to cheerfulriess wss 


^00 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


due to the first love-letter she had ever received. It came from 
Usher, and ran in this style: 

“ 1 went back to ray house, Mina dearest, and contemplated my 
work and sickened over it. It can not be, without an assurance 
from you that you belong to me, that 1 can evei return to that work 
with zest. Indeed 1 may g\7e it up altogether it 1 am not now as- 
sured possession of your heait. Work is much, success is much; 
but work and success are nothing without love. Love me then, 
Mina, and tell me you love rae, and let me know that 1 may love 
you, and hope to cherish and protect you in a neai time comiug. 
Throw out ol your heart the image of the man who has taken ud 
his place there on false pretenses. 1 have heard from him since you 
left — heard, and what do you think? 1 am to take up his cause. 
Jle is the documentary wonder of the world. He has been kept out 
of his birthright for many years, since his early boylutod. He, in 
fact, is you. Instead of your being Lady Dunbeath, he is Sir 
Thomas now. 1 am inclosed partial proof of it, which 1 am to 
keep until he has found more. This, then, is the man who went 
out to find your parents, who proposed to give up friends, acquaint- 
ances, fortune, that you might be restored to your own. 1 do not 
hesitate to pronounce him a traitor, and 1 ask to be placed where 
he has been sitting in usurpation. If you do not answer me, 1 shall 
come and entreat an answer on the banks of the Seine.” 

Absence did not make the heart grow fonder in Mina's case, for 
Usher’s letter pleased her, and she began to regard her connections 
W'ith Nixon as a useless little flirtation, wdiich had occupied his 
time, without deeply touching her. But she did not answer Usher. 
She let a week pass, and sure enough he followed them to Paris. 

They were sitting in a little parlor overlooking the Rue de Rivoli 
when he came, 

‘‘ How would ycu like to be presented at court?” asked the sher- 
ifl. 

“ There’s no end to your audacity, papa.” 

” It’s the easiest thing in the world. He’s very fond ol Scotch 
people, the emperor, and she's a Kirkpatrick. I’ve been looking 
into the matter, and find that my great-grandmother on the moth- 
er’s side was a Kirkpatrick too, and 1 find that I’m entitled to 
present my card as a country cousin; what do you think?” 

” 1 should die of fright in those giddy altitudes.” 

‘‘Oh, no, you wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be a fiftieth part such a 
trying ordeal as to shake liands with Lord Slraven. And, by the 
wa^, that malicious old gentleraap told me that when the emperor 


CRADLE AND SPADE, 


2i]1 

visited the seat of his (Lord Straven’s) title in Scotland, and was 
crossing a stream on the back of a gillie, the calf of his leg came 
off and floated away.” 

” 1 say!” 

‘‘ Mow, if he knew that there was a man living in the H6tel 
deRivoli Who could tell that story against him in Paris, he would 
invite me to dinner every day of the week, he would, indeed. The 
caricaturists might make him shake on his throne if they knew ii. 
1 wonder if his majesty’s historian will mention the incident in 
these later years, when he has smashed Germany, overrun the 
Rhine, taken over Belgium, and done seme of the other things the 
world expects him to do? By Jupiter, here is Frank Usher!” 

Yes, it was Frank, who had taken the precaution to make him- 
self presentable before arriving. He was living, he said, in a 
street behind Uie Rue de Rivoli, in a little hotel called the Nor- 
mandy; an easy-going place, where he expected to be comfortable. 
It was within five minutes’ 'walk or so of the Hdtel de Rivoli. How 
was the sheriff? How was Miss Durie? Looking well, very well, 
he was so glad to observe. 

‘‘1 don’t know how you have done,” said the sheriff, after a 
time, having welcomed the stranger with cordiality. 

“ Done what?” 

” Broken loose at this time of year frem Parliament House. It 
was bad enough for me, but for you it must have been a great deal 
harder.” 

” I’m playing truant, and hope to evade the consequences in 
school-boy fashion. 1 shall net stay long.” 

” You have business in Paris?” asked Mina, with a penetrating 
glance of her eye. 

He looked at the sheriff, who waited an answer. He looked at 
her, and tried to convey two different impressions by his expres- 
sion of the face. He would have liked the sheriff to think ” yes, 
on business,” Mina to thinlc ‘‘yes, on love.” And both would 
have been correct. 

” You know Porteous is here?” 

** Yes.” 

** Have you seen this?” handing Usher a description of the Rud- 
dersdale fields, which had been contributed to a financial journal. 

'* It’s very picturesque, all that. Reads like a translation, don’t 
it? 1 can hardly believe my eyes when 1 look into it. There are 
touches there so accurate to what 1 know of the place, that it must 
have been drawn up on the spot. 1 wonder if they had a French 


262 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


engineer doing it. I’ll ask Porteous. It makes one ache to put 
all one’s guineas into it. But read that.” 

“ I think you might do worse, sheriff, than keep it up by a 
share or two." 

“ Oh, do you? You think 1 haven’t any eyes about me. You 
suppose i don’t know. Why, my boy, 1 Time taken a share or 
two. It’s like putting it into a national lottery, no doubt; but llien 
I'm abroad, I’m on a holiday, and 1 mean to enjoy myself. I ’re a 
good mind, just for the glory of the gold being in my country — 
bravo, Ruddersdale!— to take one or two more. Wait a minute. 
Porteous lives in a little hotel on the Boulevards. I’ll write him to 
take a share or two more on the advice of my friend, Mr. Usher. 

‘ Dear Mr. Porteous, you are at liberty to take some more shares — 
as many as you think judicious, within a limit which you know. 
Yours very truly, etc.' Yes, that will do. It will give an addi- 
tional pleasure to the visit. I shall feel as if 1 were a man on 
’Change. That’s next thing to being introduced at Court. But, 
by the way, it’s- a good thing that De Morny is gone or— come 
along, Mina,’’ 

“ Where shall we go, papa?’’ asked Mina, standing at the win- 
dow as if she were a neutral parly, entirely uninterested in any- 
thing or anybody. 

“ 1 am your slave,” said Usher. 

Where shall we go, papa?” asked Mina, standing at the win- 
dow as if she were a neutral party, entirely uninterested in any- 
thing or anybody. 

‘‘lam your slave,” said Usher. 

” Where shall we go, papa?” 

Anywhere.” 

” Last night 1 heard such robust singing beyond the broad, open 
square— Place de la Concorde you call it— in below the trees; sing, 
ing from all quarters of the globe. Shall we go and hear that?” 

‘‘ An open-air concert,” said the sheriff. 

” Yes, and you can hear it for nothing, tor 1 had the curiosity to 
look at the gate, and 1 saw something or other to eat and drink for 
so much, concert for nothing.” 

” Oh, you did? Then ’el's go.” 

Some hours afterward they did set out, Mina remaining behind. 

” Do you know Paris?” asked the sheriff of the advocate. 

” No, 1 can’t say 1 do.” 

” 1 don't mean the great old Legitimist families. Pocr Nap him- 
self isn’t admitted there. Noi do 1 mean the high old American 


CRADLK AXD SPADE. 




v.i 

>.) 


ladies and gentlemen who tear each other’s hair in the buses, if 
they are South and Noith. No.” 

** Whom do you mean?” 

** 1 don’t mean the English snobs who ‘chum’ wii.h people 
abroad, and snub each other in Hyde Part.” 

*• W^hom do you mean?” 

” Wicked Pmis.” 

“Ko.” 

“No?” 

‘‘ You are,” continued the sheriff, ‘‘a veiy moral man. Y'ou 
don't want to know wicked Paris?” 

” I am—” 

“Ehl” 

‘‘ I am — ” 

‘‘ Well, you made that remark before.” 

‘‘ Yts, but you didn’t listen to the end of it. 1 am—” 

” Look here, my boy, 1 am abroad. You are abroad. 1 am 
having a holiday. Y'ou are having a holiday. Good and well, let 
it be a holiday. But also, it 1 like, let it be a — a — a —eh —eh — you 
know.” 

‘‘ No, 1 don’t know.” 

” Y'es, you di>.” 

‘‘ No, 1 don’t.” 

‘‘ You do, you humbugging advocate.” 

‘‘ 1 assure ycu, 1 don’t. 1 would rather show Miss Durie into a 
seat fifty thousand times, than— than — ” 

‘‘ Oh ahl” 

‘‘My dear sheriff, you are incomprehensible.” 

‘‘ No, I’m rot. It’s just like this. Here 1 am abroad. 1 am a 
Judge— a serious judge, to be sure. Still, 1 want to know life in 
all its phases. 1 want to see the Mabille. Y'ou have heaid of tbe 
Mabille? No? It is an abominable place, to which every English- 
speaking man goes. And why? Because he knows he will heai 
there nothing but English. He will hear, and what will he see?” 

‘‘That 1 don’t know.” 

‘‘ Don’t you?” 

“No.” 

” Would you like to know?” 

‘‘1 would like logo to a concert with Miss Durie.” 

‘‘ You would?” 

“Yes.” 

‘‘ Frank, you have still something to learn.” 


chadlt: and si»adt:. 




“ What?” 

” That a man who stands before a judge, parchment in hand, 
wilh a fine talking power, if he does not know life, is only a 
machine charged wilh suspicion.” 

‘‘You think the Jardin Mabille is life then?” 

‘‘ No.” 

‘‘ What do you call it?” 

” All that Paris has to show of original savagery. We are all, 
you knew, or ought to know, savages to start with— otherwise 
naked beneath our clothes, as the greatest poet of the century was 
told by the smallest man now on earth. Very w'ell, let us see it.” 

‘‘ 1 would rather make love to my love.” 

‘‘1 begin to feel wicked.” 

‘‘ Sheriff, you are wicked.” 

“Go and make love.” 


CHAPTER Lll. 

A NEW OOCUrATION. 

” Something must be done,” said the factor to himself, looking 
at Nixon on the pier, where he seemed to be haranguing some of 
the fisliermen. He strolled down their way and the fishermen dis- 
appeared. Nixon would rather not have spoken to him. Fre- 
quently he had gone out of his way to avoid him. In a short time 
they would be coming into unpleasant relations; in the meantime 
he knew that he was dealing with an e^em5^ 

‘‘ Ycu’re still on the ground?” said Leslie, roughly. 

‘‘ Yes, thanks, here 1 am.” 

‘‘ Y'ou seem to be a little drwu in the world, man.” 

‘‘ I’m afraid I owe you a fishing-rod, Mr, Leslie. That after- 
noon of the row on the water 1 was obliged to throw away the rod 
yon lent me.” 

‘‘ To be sure, 1 didn’t think of that. You will replace it, if you 
please, or hand in the auiount at the bank that will cover the price 
of it. Otherwise, 1 shall be under the disagreeable necessity of 
suing you for it.” 

‘‘ That’s rather sharp practice, considering the narrow escape i 
made.” 

” 1 am tired of seeing you here, man.” 

‘‘ Well, you are likely to see a little more of me.” 

” Y ou are a useless character. The best thing that cculd have 
happened to you was to gel drowned.” 

1 I -> 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


265 


“ Thank you. Perhaps 1 see an easier way out of my difficulties. ” 

“ Perhaps you’ll be shown a w^ay off this estate in the first place." 

‘‘No, sir, not exactly, i mean to stay here still a little while. 1 
mean to work here. I am a fisherman now." 

‘‘ You blockhead! and I have oflered you ease, opulence, and a 
rich commission!" 

‘‘ And 1 have not accepted it." 

‘‘Then you may prepare your mind for worse things." 

Nixon had, indeed, broken with the miners and come into town 
again. Elspeth had pcinted out to him that he might render a 
great service by showing the example of going to sea, for the peo- 
ple were forsaking their work, and he might help them back to it. 
It was rare consolation to him to believe that, in turning fisherman, 
he could do more good. 

" Am 1 net among my own people?" he reflected, ‘‘ and will it 
not endear me to them later on*?" 

So he invested in a sou’-wester, and begged for a place in a boat 
— the boat in which he had once before gone out to the Stacks. He 
got a place, too, and during hfs first week he helped to bring ashore 
large quantities of fish, which sold well in the Square. The fisher- 
man let him have a room off his hut, and was very well pleased 
with him, as he took a good deal of work off his hands and seemed 
to bring him luck. 

It was the only boat which went out. The rest of them lay about 
the beaches unused, and the road to the diggings was covered all 
day with loiterers, who were neglecling the boundful opportunities 
cf the sea. Leslie did not mind, it increased the importance of 
the diggings, and gave them the temporary appearance of being the 
staple industry of the estate. 

As a fisherman, Nixon forgot some of his remorse foi his aliena- 
tion from Mina, His hands were full, 'and ho had no time for sor- 
row. Besides, the life presented him with considerable variety of 
experience. Take one evening of it, as the boat is coming in from 
the Slacks to the harbor without any fish. Besides Nixon at the 
bow, there is another man at the sheet, and the fisherman who owns 
the boat at the helm. 

‘‘ Bad luck tc-night," says the man at the helm. 

‘‘ Don’t say that yet. We’re not ashore, and the luck may 
change." 

‘‘As how?" asked Nixon, who bated returning to the shoie 
empty-handed. 


2G6 


CKADLE AJsD SPADE. 


. “ It’s not the season for the seals; but there’s plenty of them in 
there,” responds the man from the sheet. 

“ We’ve 2ot nothing to kill them with.” 

** Anyhow, here’s these clubs, and plenty of light to show where 
they aie lying.” 

And so the empty-handed boat, instead of making for the harbor, 
sailed straight for the lofty clilts between Ruddersdale and Oiley, 
and lay rocking at the mouth of a high cave, where the tide rose 
and fell without breaking into waves. IMixon felt as if he were 
lying at the mouth of a cathedral, so high up did the ribbed rocks 
overarch the sea, and so solemn was the darkness beyond the rays 
of moonlight. He had never killed seals before, but he bad heard 
over and over again of the amazing exploits of the fishermen, tie 
fell into a waiting attitude, therefore, at the mouth of the cave, and 
did not speak for a full hour, and stooped, when his comrades 
stooped, for a club and a light, as if he had been used to the sport 
all bis days. This sort of fishing was different from any he had 
tried. To gel to the inner end of the cave, to suddenly light up, 
leap upon the sand and lay about among the astonished seals— that 
was the task. How he held his breath as, gripprng the ledges of 
the rocks, he helped to noiselessly drift the boat within the cavern! 
How his heart beat as the first stroke of flint lit the tinder, and the 
linder in turn flared up three torches of tow! How he leaped 
ashore and intercepted one and another of the amazed sleepers as 
they shuffled in a bewildered herd toward the sea! 

They killed five in all, and instead of returning in ill-luck their 
boat leaned over to the gunwales, and the seals were well sold, and 
next night they got mere. He liked his fisherman life. 


CHa'pTER Llll. 

SWEETHEARTS CHANGED. 

If a treatise were to be composed upon engagements and the art 
of getting off with the old love and on with the new, much stress 
would have to be laid upon the kind of opportunities the new had 
presented to him in changing the engagement. Paris opened out 
before the wondering eyes of Mina Durie, and day after day, with 
the companionship of Frank Usher to accentuate its charms, she 
found herself parting with the last remnants of afieclion for the un- 
Vv riiten lover at Ruddersdale. From the Hotel de Rivoli they drove 


CRADLE Am) SPADE. 


207 


together to ever}' place of interest which it was their duty as tour- 
ists to see. He took her to museums, ami seated in cool shadows 
he trotted out to her all he knew that she cared to hear ot ancient 
art. His quotations were neither very amusing nor accurate; but 
they served to pass the time, and tc strengthen her faith in Usher 
as the man upon whom she ought to have originally bestowed he 
promise of her hand. They wandered to leafy gardens together, 
on both sides of the river, and did not eschew the cemeteries as 
part of the “show,” forgetful that the sun which shone on them 
had but the other day lightened the faces ot scores as fond, now 
well out of sight. As for the sheriQ:. he turned in upon his mag- 
num opus again. Quite unexpectedly he had come across a great 
mine of material bearing upon the Scotch sheriflry during the period 
of the Reformation, in the Imperial Library. He had also dis- 
covered that an old Scots’ College in a remote nook of the city had 
unransacUed archives, which he was at liberty to search, and from 
which he promised himself some footnotes and allusions which 
would have a far more crushing look of scholarship than extracts 
in Cherokee or Maori. He thought, with chuckles of self satisfac- 
tion, of his opponent, the great ransacker, who had bungled his 
way into the Royal Society and into the miserable honors of a 
Doctorship of Laws, thiough a reputation of unpublished finds ot 
phenonrenal antiquity. He doubted whether he ever knew there 
was a Scots’ College; but he would now know, said the sheriff to 
himself. He would send a long account of it and a scholarly in- 
ventory (>f the archives to the “Caledonian.” The editor would 
give him ten columns, he was sure, to enlarge upon it, or, if it was 
not loo hot, he might write eleven cr twelve. After all, the “ Cale- 
donian ” needed something ot that sort. They were always ham- 
mering away at the truth that Monday was as good as Sunday, that 
it was better to drink whisky than cold water, that all parsons were 
amusing blockheads, with black carpet bags, and that if a man 
didn’t vote for a Whig Government be was not to be trusted as far 
as he could be kicked. As a sort of preliminary to bis magnum 
opus the sheriff determined that be should get through his eleven or 
twelve columns. It would be very unlike the facile yards ot con- 
versation from the spirited contiibalions of the staff; it would be 
stifif, laborious, full of asterisks and footnotes, and the journal 
would run through ten editions every day for a month, in expecta- 
tion of more. So the sheriff’s hands were quite full. 

There is little to record of these meetings ot Usher and Mina, 
when the latter was swapping horses in crossing the stream. How 


CP; A T) L K A X D SPA DP. 


;>(]8 

should there he? He was desperately in love. She was gleatly 
inclined to love anything which loved her trul}^ and faithtull3\ 
Their talk was in accordance \vith their feelings, and there was no 
useful information in it. Still, some of it had better be recorded. 
They ha\ e been through the Luxembourg, and have got to a corner 
of the gardens in midday all by themselves. They are looking at 
some ancient fish in a pond. They are grateful for the leafy shad- 
ow; he holding her arm with his hand, she permitting him without 
protest. 

“ !Now, we shall sit down, dear,” says Alina. 

” 1 think we could do nothing better. You would not consent 
to sit inside the shadow of a cafe. You have ihe awful presence of 
Forbes Mackenzie hovering over you. 1 assure you his influence 
does not extend this distance, and it is quite usual for ladies to 
quench their thirst and allay their fatigue as 1 should have wished 
you to do.” 

Mina sighed, and lay back in her seat, looking at the bubbles on 
the pool and the fat red fish breathing above the circles they made. 

” 1 have been arguing with myself, Frank.” 

‘‘ Don’t, Mina. Don’s argue with yourself. Argue with me. 1 
am paid for it. It is my trade. I’ll give you a couple of premises 
to start with, and fight you for the conclusion.” 

” No, it is not logic.” 

” What is it?” 

‘‘ 1 have been arguing. A man once said he loved me. 1 once 
said I loved him.” 

” Therefore two affirmatives make a negative, and you love— 
me.” 

” Are these the rules of logic?” 

” 1 think £0, Mina.” 

They sat looking at the water-lilies, and the fish moving the 
surface of the water. 

” They are not conclusive,” she added. 

‘‘ 1 know what is conclusive,” he said. 

” What?” 

“Mina!” 

He had risen and gone into a grotto. The noise of passing cabs, 
carriages, and carts filled the air beyond thick myrtles. Perhaps 
there were detectives among the roots of the trees. His experience 
as a lawyer made him understand that these poor fellows had func 
tions quite as humble to perform. They— Mina and he— weie for- 
eigners, and might he supposed capable of laying spring-guns for a 


A DLE A N D SPADE. 


20<J 


boy prince or h:& companions, when he played hide-and-seek that 
way. 

“ Minal” 

“Yes, Frank.** 

She rose and went to him. She was rather dusty and fatigued. 
So was he, dusty and fatigued, and anxious, and not at all like the 
rising advocate he was. 

“ JNlina, the premises have been started. This is the conclu- 
sion.’' 

He clasped her in his arms. Nobody saw them. They did not 
care it anybody did. She drooped her head on his breast. He 
pressed his lips to her brow, her moutb, her cheeks. 

“Now, darling,” he murmured, leading her back to the seat, 
where an official-looking personage, as if he had been a discharged 
peusicner come down to walking in gardens, sniffed at them, and 
passed. 

“ Frank, 1 wish 1 felt as 1 ought to feel, that 1 am yours, heart 
and soul, soul and heart, and — ” 

“ The pensioner is gone, Mina.” 

These are very frivolous and trivial remarks. So are all the re- 
marks made in love, poor, wretched, silly affirmatives and negatives, 
but, chaperoned by the true feeling, how full ot poetry, eloquence, 
the truths of science! What Nature may mean by it, not even 
Schopenhauer has determined. Nature, however, takes large tricks 
by poor cards, and probably knows the ultimate game better than 
the philosophers. Witness a pair of commonplace lovers, sublime 
in face, form, and attitude, when they are lovers, and not make- 
believes. Mina and Frank went out of the Luxembourg gardens 
really lovers. Then they drove to a cemetery— to P^re la Chaise. 
The people looked at their open cab, and they cut their connection 
with Nature, and became citizens of the world, and ceased to be 
Adam and Eve. They drove to P^re la Chaise. 

“ \Yhy do they call it so?” asked Mina, coming down dreamily 
at the gate, and seeing Usher pay the cabman off with a business- 
like precision, which disturbed the effects of the embrace in the 
gardens. She felt that if she had to pay the poor man she would 
have given him her purse and walked oft. Usher higgled the 
market, and joined her, half a franc a winner. 

‘ flow mindful they are of their dead, to be sure!” exclaimed 
the advocate, joining her beyond the gate, thrusting her hand into 
his arm, and walking uphill. 

“ It aftecta me greatly,” said Mina. 


CKADLE AND SPADK. 


“ 1 tliink our way is best. Dead-dead and gone, and that will 
do.” 

“ 1 do not agree with you.” 

“You talk pathetically.” 

“ It is because 1 have no dead to ?ttend to. None — or 1 should 
bedew their graves with tears, and plant flowers every month ot the 
year. Ah! that comes of being sent into the world alone. Alone 
without tatber or mother, or relatives, or — ” 

” No, no, Mina; not without lovers.” 

‘‘ No, Frank, nc,” and she clung to his arm. 

” If we go straight up the hill,” he said, '* we shall have a view' 
all over Paris, and we shall forget the dead.” 

” Happy they who have dead to forget,” murmured Mina. 

They took a walk straight up, and she pressed his arm, and they 
stood in front of a marble bust of a wistful, strong, fine, and inde- 
finable face. 

“Oh,” said Usher, ‘‘that’s — that’s ’’—and he took some time 
to read the name on the bust—” that’s De Musset.” 

Mina had read a great deal of him. She seemed to feel her own 
sensation of being a lost child in an incalculable world more 
strongly in his prose and poetry than in any other she had read. 
Alexander Smith, the great poet who had just risen, gave only a 
feeling of fire-works, and rushing for her life trom the tumbling of 
burnt sticks. De Musset had wandered aw ay from paternity, from 
home, and lost himself, and forgotten God, and yawned and wished 
he were dead, notwithstanding love and the consolations it brought. 
She hung on Frank’s arm as she remembered all that De Musset 
had been to her in the hollow tree at Corstorphine. It was some 
lime before she realized what Usher was saying to her in an om- 
niscient voice. Usher w'as nothing it not omniscient. Every lover 
is, and may be with impunity, for he is not likely to be corrected. 
But the advocate, who had never heard of De Musset, was, on this 
occasion, a trifle beyond the omnipotence brief ot ignorance. He 
stood and said— 

” Poor fellow, he died young! He has a fine face, it is French 
— thoroughly French. Now', no public man of any other country 
would have a face like that. He' was an eminent lawyer, so long 
as he lasted. The great case — of course, Mina, dear, you can’t 
remember it — the case of — ahem!— against— ahem! etc., etc. Yes, 
it w'as conducted by De Musset. He w'on it, too, poor fellow. He 
w'as in Parliament for a little, but spoke with far tco much preci- 
sion for— for- the taste of the Legitimists. He was a Legitimist, 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


You can tell that from the Republican look of his nostrils, and 
the Legistimisls are what they call the Extreme Left. You don’t 
care much abcut politics, Mina. Koi do 1. Only, en passant, 1 
may be permitted to say a word or two about any familiar to me.” 

Mina withdrew her hand from his arm. She had not spoken to 
him all the way from the Luxembourg, feeling that, at last, she had 
found what was father, mother, past and future to her. She had 
heard him higgle the market and shivered. She now listened to 
him gravely enunciating rubbish, which she painfully knew to be 
such, and she drew aside a pace, walking alone. He did not notice 
^he temporary repulsion. 

” 1 love them,” she murmured, “ for their love to their dead.” 

"They msy make loo much of it,” he said, approaching her, 
and putting his hand on her arm. ” But we can not deny them a 
terrific love for the Church and State. This is the grave of St. 
Pierre.” 

” Who was he?” asked Mina, still lingering upon the recollec- 
tion of his tales about her favorite I)e Musset, and forgetting her 
favorite St. Pierre, whom she knew as well. 

” Oh, he is not so important,” said Usher, still with his omnis- 
cient voice. ” He was a— a— an admiral who fought some battles 
and lost them. He— he — ” 

‘‘Sailed in the ‘Paul and Virginia,’ I suppose,” remarked 
31ina, disengaging herself and walking uphiP. 

He knew nothing of St. Pierre; so was not the least disconcerted 
by the remark. But Mina did not again speak to him in the ceme- 
tery. She did not again allow him to put his arm in hers or her 
hand in his. She was, somehow, shocked. 

” I— 1— feel that I should like to go home,” she exclaimed, on 
the hill-top overlooking Paris to the west. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

A CLEW. 

The return of Joseph to Ruddersdale set up a good deal of talk. 
He was, at the outset, supposed to be somebody of very great con- 
sequence, especially when Leslie took him up. Then Leslie dropped 
him, and he was regarded as less than nothing at all. He went to 
the diggings, and people thought he was ” cracked.” He returned 
to fish, and they said he v/as “a poor creature.” It took some 


CRADLE AKD SPADE, 


27 ^ 

lime tor public opinion to crystallize; the basis of the village con- 
viction about all public matters resting in the private room of the 
Duke’s Arms. The doctor and the local attorney took the lead in 
forming it; the doctor, who was mostly inside his gig, gatheiing 
his opinions as he weni along from those who had time for observa- 
tion. The attorney, a small imitator of Leslie, who was to him as 
the lord president to the usher who announced little police truths, 
judged that Nixon was “ a born tool.” And if a ycung advocate 
will sit upon the beach of a north sea, with a sou’-wester on his 
head, helping to mend nets, while a girl from a little village inn 
stands looking on making observations, he must take the conse- 
quences. A fool he certainly is to the wiseacre tvho has his office 
to go to, for which there is no business, but inside which he can 
cultivate the awful manner of a man of affairs, mysterious, pomp- 
ous, great. Nixon, trying to mend a net, was much more busily 
engaged than the little attorney chewing his quill and passing his 
hand through his hair at the open window overlooking the Square. 
But such is life! The idle vagabond who cultivates the air of 
aftairs is likely to come off with honors where the industrious 
lounger, who conveys the impressicn of lounging in his backbone, 
will be set down and treated as — nobody. His consolation ought 
to be if he is really industrious, that no reputation at all is betler, a 
great deal, than the reputation fcr fuss. And, indeed, Nixon 
troubled himself very little about the matter. Elspeth had con- 
vinced him that his fishing was a fine thing for the people. ^Yhele, 
previously, one boat went out, five went out now. They all fished, 
and brought to the beach their spoil, and Nixon liked to feel that 
he was doing his own folk a service. Besides, he was making 
rr.oney He paid Nancy’s bill out of the seals, and he had plenty 
of silver in his pocket, the result of cod, ling, flukes, and what not. 
It was an odd sort of industry. AVhen his boat came to shore all 
the fish were thrown on the beach, divided into three lots, one lot 
tor the skipper, another for himself, a third for the other occupant 
of the boat. Then a neutral party turned his back upon a stone, 
with three pebbles on it, while each pebble was cast to a lot of fish, 
naming the owner of the lost as the pebble was cast. The advocate 
could not help feeling that a great deal of useless sympathy was 
thrown away upon the men of these shores If the Leslies would 
only give them fair play, so that they might realize their industry, 
the rule of the sea was pleasant, the fishing was pretty steady; it 
was, to him, a great improvement upon a wig and stuff and the 
jeering of smart ones who had fathers or fathers-iu-law in the law, 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


briefs to give then nnd money to pay for poor pleading. He posi- 
tively liked being a fisherman, liked it with the positive prospect of 
abandoning it when he was tired of it. 

Fishing, however, is not without incidents, and one of these oc- 
curred to Nixon’s boat one evening while they were engaged in 
drawing their lines. They had gone further out than usual. 

The shcre line was bine and hazy, the uplands below Rudders- 
dale looking like smoke which had settled and had nc intention ot 
ascending. The solitary rocks, known by the name of “ Stacks,” 
to the north, showed out with photographic clearness against the 
higher ridge ot land which flanked them. The sea was still, easy, 
and had no appearance of treachery about it. The boat was rock- 
ing over a sandbank, and Nixon, the skipper, and the other man 
were hard at work on the same side bringing up their lines. It was 
not a fisherman-like attitude; but the evening was calm. There 
M as hardly a puff of wind. The sky was blue, and the water itself 
had the soft appearance ot being the sort (d material that a man 
might lay himself down on and recline on, as it it were a grassy 
bank. Two or three times, however, a bump at the outermost side 
made Nixon look round, when it was followed by a splash of 
water. He took assurance immediately from the faces ot his com- 
rades and resumed his fishing, though he had a slight feeling of 
danger, for the mast stood at his elbow, and the sail was half- 
heisted. Suddenly there came a bump that determined the ques- 
tion. The skipper had an enormous ling on his line. He leaned 
over to give him plenty cf room. His comrade leaned over to see 
the fish. Nrxon leaned over because he had brought oft all the 
contents of his hooks. He forgot the sea. He saw the blue shore- 
line; he was vaguely aw'are of the ” Stacks;” he thought the water, 
so gentle in its undulations from the German Ocean, would be 
very nice to bathe in. The ling was brought up to the edge ot the 
boat; all three put their heads down tc see it, and a moment after- 
M'ard the boat bad gone over, with the impact of a wave from be- 
hind. Between the moment of looking at the ling and the choking 
sensation ot being beneath the sea with a damp clinging cloth in 
closing him, there was not half a minute. 

Nixon had got into the water beneath the boat, and his arms and 
legs were entangled in the sail. To have remained there was to 
have been choked. He opened his eyes beneath the water, saw' 
nothing, and feeling a choking sensation at his throat, he kicked 
vehement Jy, dived downward, rose some yards from the boat, saw 
it boltom upM’ard, two pairs of hands clinging to the keel, and 


274 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


everything going on all round about as it the ling were caught and 
the fishermen contented He was aw’are of the sky, blue and fair, 
with a few winking stars above him. He half saw the shore. He 
felt the slow roll of the German Ocean; then he began to know 
that his boots w'ere heavy as lead, that his clothes clung to him, 
that he would sink if he had no support; after which he made a 
couple of strokes to the upturned boat and thrust himself on it, his 
hand clutching the hand of the skipper on the other side. The 
skipper did not speak; he only tightened his grasp. His hench- 
man did not speak; he only gulped when the boat swung over to 
Nixon’s side, after he made the grasp, 

“ Peter!” gasped Nixon, ” Peter!” 

” Ay, man.” 

“ Can’t we right her?” 

The henchman, hoisting himself on the elevated side of the boat, 
said— 

“Yes, if 3^e sweera round.” 

“ 1 can’t get my bools off,” said Nixon. 

The waves from the German Ocean came in on them, large, 
rotund, unimpassioned, making no fuss about it. There w^as no 
evident intention on the part of the sea to drown them, yet the sud- 
denly capsized boat rose and fell, fell and descended in a leaden 
hopeless style, which gave no hcpe to Nixon. 

“ Peter,” he cried; “ it 1 swim round, and the three of us on the 
same side pull the keel, she’ll right.” 

“ There’s the sail,” said Peter; “ 1 feel it at my feet.” 

“ Keep your feet out of it. I’ll get my boots off and dive and 
try to bring the mast out and set the sail adrift— mast and sail.” 

He clung tc the keel with one hand and with the other got a boot 
partially off; but the rollers came in, gentle, strong, insinuating, 
and the boat rose and fell, and there were groans from the shore 
side of it, and the hands seemed to lighten their grasp. Notwith- 
standing, Nixon labored at his boot, got it off, dived, found his head 
in contact with a clinging mass of sail, freed himself, and came up 
on the side where skipper and henchman were clinging. He had 
his leg on the mast; he swung himself up, and with his right hand 
gripped the keel. The boat heeled, but did not right. Then the 
skipper’s hands suddenly dropped and he went into the water with 
a splash. Nixon gathered him up with his left arm, and he held 
on again. 

“Hold on, Peter,” said Nixon. “ We’ll get into the tide-way 
and float nicely ashore beyond the—” 


CRADLE AXD SPADE 



A bigger wave liom ihe German Ocean than any of its prede- 
cessors dipped the boat; they all sunk together, and Nixon’s chin 
hit the edge with a thump whicn almost berett him of bis senses. 

Peter dropped oft and seemed about to sink, when Nixon, cir- 
cling hitn with his arms, raised him to the keel. He gripped tlie 
keel and husKily began: 

“ I’ll drown, you’ll live. You’ll sweem. I’ll drown.” 

” Hold up, old man,” said Nixon, gripping his feet with his 
right leg, and strengthening the hold of his palm upon the keel, 
while the boat dipped and rolled, and rose and tell. ” Don’t let 
go.” 

The henchman suddenly disappeared at that point, silently, 
without a word of complaint, as it he was a sinker, destined from 
all time to go to the bottom. 

” He’s doon,” said the skipper. 

” Hold on,” cried Nixon. 

“ I’ve uaething on my mind.” 

” lhat’s well.” 

” Next to naething.” 

‘‘ All right, old boy, hold on.” 

'* To nacthiug,” said Peter, leaving hold and slipping into the 
w'ater. 

Nixon slackened an arm, got hi;n by the hair of the head, raised 
him to the gunw'ales, raised his right arm to the keel, and fastened 
his fingers at the seaward side. 

” Naething,” groaned Peter. 

” Hold on, old fellow, they’re sure to see us. We’ll get taken 
oft.” 

Peter put his left hand up beside his right, and the boat lurched 
downward. It did not, however, right. 

"I’ll dee,” said Peter, ‘‘ an’ you’ll live. I’ve next to naething on 
my mind but this.” 

” What, man?” 

” A nee X was paid by Leslie for bringing a bairn to land and 1 
never brocht her. There was nae bairn to biiug. 1 never — 1— ” 

The boat lurched again. Peter disappeared, and Nixen rose on 
a wave to find himself the sole survivor. He kicked off a second 
boot, and with a convulsive haul, pulled himself abreast of the 
keel, got a leg over, and was safe. 

” Ance 1 was paid,” he murmured, wdien he felt a hand rudely 
tearing him from the keel. Then he forgot the rest. 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


,^76 


CHAPTER LV. 

FOLLOWING THE CLEW. 

Nixon wap picked oft the keel of bis boat by a stranger to the 
port of Ruddersdale. But the stranger did his best for him. It 
laid tiim on his side»amoDg the ballast, and chafed his hands and 
feet, and tried to pour the salt water out of him. Theie was a 
certain amount of success too; ho disgorged a large quantity of 
salt-water, and his temples being rubbed with spirits, he made some 
tremulous motions of the lower limbs, and somewital twitchings 
of the mouth. Yet he was not conscious when the stranger’s boat 
touched the pier of Ruildeisdale and delivered him up to the arms 
of a few loungers who had strolled there in lieu of anything belter 
to do. The stoiy was soon told of the capsized boat and the miss- 
ing ones, and Nixon was carried straight to Nancy’s inn. He had 
begun to breathe freely by the lime he was laid on the couch in 
Laggan’s room. Nancy bustled in, loosened his chest, and gave 
directions for hot bottles and what not. 

“ Na, na, he wasna made to be drooned,” said the innkeeper. 

“ He’ll live— ay, ye’ll live,” she repeated, bending over him as 
he feebly opened his eyes to the light and made a definite move- 
ment of treathing. He shut them again feebly, and with the hot 
bottles came in Elspeth Gun. She looked at him. She had heard 
that a half -drowned man had been brought in, and her own sym- 
pathies with that state having been painfully awakened of late, she 
was in a condition to sympathize with the sufferer. She did not 
know it was Nixon. 

” Nancyl” cried the girl, raising her hands^ clasping them, and 
becoming rather more pale than the man on the sofa. *‘ Nancy!” 

‘‘New, Elspeth, ibis is rather too bad ct ye. We dinna need 
two o’ ye to be in that stale thegither. We do not, indeed. He’s 
cornin’ round, lassie.” 

” Ob, Nancy!” ejaculated the girl, grasping the table. 

” Come away and help me, girl,” said the old woman, dragging 
her to Nixon’s side, and be opened his eyes again, stirred in every 
limb, smiled as he wakened into .a consciousness of Elspeth. 

1 remember,” be said feebly. 

There was a noise of voices outside the inn. People were wait- 
ing lor news. The strange boat had gone back to the Stacks with 


ORADM'J AXi) Sl'Af)!:.. 

Ihiee otlieis, to tew ashore the capsized one. But there had been 
death, and death, after all, creates more subdued excitement than 
any other force in the universe. 

“Gang out and tell them,” said Nancy to a man who had 
helped to carry Nixon up. “ Tell them he’s better, an’ it they’ll 
baud their tongues, he’ll say what he kens soon eneuch. But there’s 
iwa deed, nae doot.” 

The man went out and whispered into the ears of the nearest 
gioup. They were peering into the windows, and mobbing every 
chink which seemed a small mousehole, for information. There 
was quiet after the announcement. 

Elspeth hung over Nixon, cried a little over him in an unseen 
way, clasped her bands behind her back, looked at his return to 
vitality with terrible interest, and longed to fling her aims about 
him. He was very feeble for a time, and had to be lifted by de- 
grees to a corner of his couch, afler which Elspeth was sent out of 
the room, and when she came back accompanied by Mr. Leslie, 
the invalid was propped up and busily engaged absorbing some- 
thing out of a spoon. 

“ This is a terrible calamity,” said Mr. Leslie, scanning Nixon. 
He was a justice of the peace in addition to many other offices too 
nutnerous to mention. He came in with the feeling of justice in 
him. He had hoped there was a dying declaration tc be made. 
He meant to clear the room and hear it by himself. But no; Nixon, 
though he looked bad enough, had obviously nc intention of 
dying. He meant to live, and the justice of the peace was dis 
gusted. 

“ How did it happen?” he asked, bending down and roaring 
into Nixon’s ear. 

Nixon drew away with a look of pain. 

“ He’s no speakin’ yet,” explained Nancy. 

“ You may be at death’s door,” said the factor, “ and it’s your 
duty to say how this happened, if you have breath in your body.” 

He had plenty of breath, for he inhaled the air of the room, let 
his chest expand and sink, and shook his head. 

“ Nothing?” asked Leslie. 

He shook his head again; and the factor, overpowered by some 
emotion which there was no visible means of explaining, quietly 
retired from the room. 

Nixon lay there all night, and Nancy went in and out, making 
things smooth tor him. By the next evening he was all right 


^78 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


again, as he said, ami asked 31rs. Uaiper il she would lend him 
her horse to ride to Oiley. 

“ To Oiley, my dear?” said Mrs. Harper. 

Yes, to Oiley.” 

” What would you go there for? They haven’t recovered the 
bodies, poor men" 

” Ko; but 1 want to see the sheriff substitute.” 

“ Ay; ucw% what would the like o’ that be for?” 

” Mrs. Harper, you have a horse ready?” 

‘‘ 1 could have the horse ready,” 

“ When?’' 

“ Maybe the day after to-morrow.” 

” That won't do.” 

'‘Now, Mr. Nixon tell me— tell me, did Peter, when he was 
dreonin’, say aught o’ me?" 

“No.” 

” Did he say aught o’ Leslie?” 

” Why do you ask?” 

‘‘ Because I’m an auld woman, and have nae other amusement 
than to ken things.” 

‘‘ No, Mrs, Harper, he had no time to say anything that woulfl 
amuse ye.” 

” What did he say?” 

” VYell, that’s what I want to go to Oiley about.” 

” To tell the shirra?” 

” Ay.” 

But, Mr. Nixon, listen to me. Roderick’s a joostlce o’ the 
peace. He would listen to you.” 

‘‘No doubt.” 

‘‘ He would hear what you had to say.” 

‘‘ I believe he would. Is the horse quite fresh and able to knock 
about?” 

‘‘ Quite fresh, Mr. Nixon; but, laddie, would ye no carrv ycur 
information to Rod — to Mr, Leslie? It would be nearer fer ye, 
and Oiley’s a great distance, and you’re no ’ower strong the nicht.” 
******* 

He rode to Oiley that evening, and came down upon that little 
fishing capital when all the lights had gone out. The aurora was 
dancing, however, at the mouth of the bay, and a man on the 
tewn-bridge told him where he would find the shirra. The sheriff- 
substitute had gone to the parish minister’s to supper, he found on 
calling at his house. He rode to the manse, and long before ho 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


270 


reached the dcor he heard hilarious laughter through the open win- 
dows. The Gospel seemed to agree with the diaphragm of the 
minister and his guests. He came o3 his horse at the doer, and let 
him crop the grass on a garden-border. 

“ Can 1 see Sheriff Mill?” 

He’s engaged the noo.” 

” I’m sorry for that; but 1 must see him. The case is urgent. 
Tell him a fisherman from Ruddersdale wants to see him.” 

” A fisherman?” 

“ leg.” 

‘‘ Ye can just bide a wee. The sheriff’s brewin’ the toddy, and 
tollin’ a story. ” 

“ Tell him a distinguished lawyer from Edinburgh—say, Lord 
Straven wants to see him.” 

” Lord! eh! mighty me!” and the domestic vanished, the sheriff 
running down behind with a rapidity which rather alarmed Isixon, 
who waited for him. 

” 1 was obliged,” he said, ” Sheriff Mill, to say something that 
would induce you to come down. 1 have a statement to make 
from a boat accident, of great importance.” 

Sheriff Mill w'as a stalwart looking oerson, with a sunburnt face, 
a tall brow, and a brown wig. 

” Well, you are not Lord Straven,” he murmured, looking at 
him. “Come in, we can have the use of Mr. Key’s study- -that 
1 know. What is it?’' Nixon followed him. into Mr. Key’s study, 
and sat down, feeling weak and ill. 

“ 1 wculd have supposed the accident had happened to-night,” 
said the sheriff-substitute, peering into his face. 

“lam only a little tired; there is not much to say. Just this. 

1 am an ailvocale. 1 came to Ruddersdale when the gold-fever 
broke out. 1 have tried the diggings, and found nothing. The 
other day 1 became a fisherman. 1 too’iC^ a seat in Reter M’Craw’s 
boat along with a lad Ingster. The last night we were out, the 
boat turned over. Ingster was drowmed. Peter was drowned; 
but before Peter went under he threw some liglir on an incident in 
which 1 am and was deeply interested. He said, before he let go 
his hold of the boat, and sunk, as far as 1 can remember— but I 
wMll give you his exact wmrds when we come to write down the 
accurate details— he said, ‘ 1 have one thing on my mind. 1 nev^er 
took a girl ashore from a foreign wreck to the house of Roderick 
Leslie.’ Then he sunk.” 

“ Peter M’Craw?” 


280 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


“1 know liim— a good, sturdy,, lonely, quarrelsome old fellow 
Ho has been in my court mere than once.” 

” Very likely.” 

” No doubt about it. I’m afraid 1 must give up the brewing of 
teddy, and take you along to my house. ” 

They went over to his house, and the sheriff -substitute took 
down, word tor word, Peter’s last utterances as Nixon remem- 
bered them. 

” 1 may say,” observed Nixon at the end, ” that 1 have come to 
the conclusion that Roderick Leslie has been guilty of a crime.” 

” Do ycu propose to lay a criminal intermation against him?” 

“No; at present 1 am talking as one advocate to another. It 
is my opinion, however, that the factor holds a secret which he 
will have to be compelled to deliver up.” 

“ You will stay all night with me?” asked the sheriff. 

“ No, thank you, 1 must ride back to Ruddersdale; but we will 
])robably meet again.” 

“ Very likely.” 

“ Good-night.” 

“Humph,” 


CHAPTER LVl. 

AT thp: cascade. 

Mina did not go out again with Usher by himself. Usher was 
torn with anxiety and doubt. The sheriff was perplexed. The 
latter confessed bitterly to himself that he did not know what to 
make of the girl. It annoyed and retarded him too. Yet he had 
no redress. He was bound to obey her, purely out cf use and wont. 
He would have preferred to mope about the Imperial Library and 
the archives of the old college; but Mina’s wish was law. He 
joined her, therefore, and the advocate in their excursions for more 
than a week, and got very tired of it. He was determined to resist 
the innovation one Sunday afternoon, when he knew the advocate 
would come over to invite Mina to the Bois de Boulogne. To 
make sure of himself he determined to eo out that afternoon and 
engage himself to a French attorney of long standing, who did the 
business of the Scots College, such as it was, and knew everything 
of importance that concerned it. 

‘ We shall enjoy going to the Cascade,” said Mina, selecting 


CRADLE AKl) SPADE. 


^81 


and arranging flowers for the table of their sitting-room, overlook- 
ing the Rue de Rivoli. 

The sheriff was standing at the window looking at some boys in 
the gardens playing ball. 

“ Pshaw I” he said, looking at the game. 

He is cross, thought Mina. She would have to humor him. 

“ Pooh!” said the sherift, still looking at the game. 

” Put one of these in your button-hole,” she said, bringing him a 
lily of immaculate whiteness. 

‘‘Ko, no, Mina. The muffs! The duffers! Call these boys. 
Boys indeed!” 

” What is it, papa?” 

” Look at that game of ball and see. They are girls, not boj-^s. 
Now, if a boy had done that to me when 1 was a boy, 1 should 
have given him a black eye — a pair of black eyes, and red teeth.” 

” Papa, dear, don’t be so sanguinary,” suggested Mina, who 
was thinking of Something else, and saw no cause in the garden 
game for irritation. 

” Tlrey seem very polite boys,” she said, 

” They are polite and nothing else. God help the armies of the 
next great fight!” 

He went back to a chair, took some sheets of his magnificent 
article on the Scots College, addressed to the ‘‘ Caledonian;” and 
Mina having finished decorating the room, spread her soft white 
gown about her feet and reclined in a corner locking at him. She 
looked at him a long time in silence; then he laid down his illus- 
. trious article and began to talk. 

” Mina, Frank comes in a little. He has arranged, all of his own 
doing, to bring some sort of conveyance to carry you off to that 
wonderful water-fall which on Sunday afternoon every good Paris- 
ian visits. For my own part 1 must go to—” 

“ Not anywhere else, papa?” 

” Why not?” 

” 1 would rather you didn’t.” 

” I’ll give you the old gentleman’s name and address, and Frank 
and you can take me up on your way back. He hangs out in one 
of tin se new streets which architect Nap has designed. Nap the 
Third is a mason from his youth upward. It shows the force of 
words that he should be emperor at all. He ought to have been at 
the head of a prosperous building firm, rearing up turrets &na ptg- 
eonneirs for the Lyons men and the Belgians who have iron to sell, 
and call themselves Frenchmen.” 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


•>82 


“ No politics, papa, please. Frauk talks them, and J dislike 
them. But 1 wish you to promise— to say that you will go far 
enough with us to make it a drive. Then we can come back, and 
1 shall stay at home, and you can see your attorney.” 

“ God bless me, girl! you are to me the most unintelligible of 
the human race. To day you are hot; to-morrow you are cold. 
Who is it you like? Is it this poor deluded victim who has thrown 
up briefs on the plea of sickness and followed you, or is it the nian 
of Ruddersdale, or what?” 

” Papa, dear, don’t talk to me like that,” said Mina, approach- 
ing him. 

They had never quarreled, the pair. They had nerei been 
afiectionate beyond a certain cold point. As her preserver, he 
would not allow himself the luxury of little domestic irritations. 
As her guardian, who held her in trust for a fate which has not as 
yet been revealed, he never allowed himself to be absolutely famil- 
iar. But the tone in her voice seemed to befoken so stricken a 
state of mind that on this occasion he could hardly contain him- 
self. He looked at her and burst out: 

“ God bless me, Mina, what is it?” 

‘‘ How can 1 tell?” answered the girl. ” Only that 1 want you 
to drive with us, that 1 want you tc come between me and Frank, 
between me and everything.” 

” But, girl, you have discovered at last who it is you care for. 
You are— you are positively cruel, if you have not.” 

She threw herself at his knee and sobbed. He leaned over her un- 
easily. The sight of her brought to bis mind a far time when a 
first wife had leaned so. His eyes were dimmed with the mist 
which, with his age and experience, no longer went the length of 
tears. 

” Rise, rise, girl. This is foolishness. 1 can’t break my engage- 
ment. You will go with Frank and tell me about it afterw^ard.” 

* * * * * * « 

Usher came to the hotel door With a magnificent carriage and 
pair. He had been told at the Normandy that it was one of the 
Sundays when the emperor would be likely to ride through the 
Bois de Boulogne. He had heard the sheriff’s assertion of relation- 
ship and judged that he would like to appear in a magnificent 
equipage if he thought he were to see and distantly bow to his il- 
lustrious relative, the Kilpatrick. But the sheriff could not go. 
He w^as delighted to see the honor the advocate meant to offer to 
both of them; but he was sorry that he had another engagement, 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


383 


Mina, however, had wiped her eyes, dressed, looked sparkling, 
handsome, expectant, and Usher handed her into the carriage with 
a recovered sense of possession. 

“ Cascade!” he shouted. 

And they started off. 

” It’s Sunday, Frank.” 

” Yes, 1 know it is.” 

‘‘ Sunday— let me see, what time is it? Between two and three. 
What a crowd, to be sure, coming down from the Madeleine! They 
are going to church, 1 suppose.” 

” Not they. They aie going where you and 1 are going.” 

‘‘ Between two &nd three. Ihe organist at home will nave played 
his voluntary. Well, some of them are as spitefully secular as 
that piano-organ man is. Before and after sermon 1 have danced 
in and danced out to a tune played by dear frosty old Dr. Truth’s 
organist. It’s all Dr, Truth’s fault— all. Be advises ihe tunes, 
and prefers reels to dirges.” 

” He must have l)eeu a lost soul, who has strayed from Paris in 
the period of Louis XIV.” 

‘‘ Very likely.” 

” 1 feel a little uneasy about driving out on Sunday— a lost soul, 
as you call it. 1 have never done it before.” 

” You will probably do it again.” 

‘‘ It depends upon what we see at the Cascade.” 

It was a brilliant Sunday afternoon, and the broad avenue 
toward the Triumphal Arch was alive with representatives of all 
the nationalities of the earth. Horsemen shot recklessly past their 
carriage, other carriages rolled up and away from them, cabs over- 
took them, obviously, the advocate had arranged that the drive 
should be as long as possible. 

“ They will think we are bride and bridegroom,” he said gayly, 
looking out on the crammed sidewalks and crowded cafes. 

” I fancy they are all so taken up, each man and woman with 
himself and herself, that they have no time to give to anything else.” 

” 1 don’t know. My experience is, in walking among the crowd, 
that each vehicle which passes with a face in it makes a momentaty 
impression on my eye, and gives me the opportunity of an instan 
laneous judgti.ent upon the face. You may carry the i^icture of one 
of these faces for weeks. I do, if they are grotesque, hideous, 
lovely, or striking.” 

” It is your business, of course, to judge character,” 

” Ves,” 


2M 


CKADLE AXD SPADE. 


“ 1 Should die of nervous irritation if they impressed me so 
keenly.” 

And so they chatted till they came to the Bois. She spoke very 
little to him all the way to the Cascade. There was a dreadful 
rushing and prancing of horses, everybody hastening to the same 
corner. When the pair reached it, the cafe was crammed and 
hardly a vacant seat was to be got. However, at last room was 
made for them in an outlying spot among the trees. They began 
an attack upon an ice. Usher very much wishing he were out on 
his honey-moon, Mina reconciled to her lot in being there with him, 

” Oompagnie d’Or! Compagnie d’Or. ” 

Every olhei second the phrase reached their ears. Usher looked 
to a further table, where he saw Porteous’s broad back ruined to 
him. He was sitting with' a company of highly dressed gentlemen, 
over whom a showily got-up woman presided, with mighty heav- 
ings of a mighty bosom and strange movements of her eyes. Ush- 
er ran away for his coachman. 

” Compagnie d’Or! Compagnie d’Orl” 

Mina listened. The advocate came back to find her standing, 
with parted lips and anxious face. 

” Go back to the sheria at once, as fast as be can drive. 1 have 
learned what may save his fortune. Compagnie d’Or.” 


CHAPTEK LVll. 

RECALLED. 

” "Why, Mina, what is it?” demanded Usher, having handed the 
girl back into the carriage. 

” Tell him,” she replied, ‘‘ tell him to gallop all the way back.” 

” Cocher,” said Usher, who was about as accomplished a French 
scholar as the sheriff, ” voulez vous galoper ^ I’hotel rie Rivoli” 

The cocher tried to obey orders as well as a crowded roadwai' 
would permit him, and as they ran back Usher again approached 
the subject. 

” What have you heard, Mina?” he asked, caressing her right 
hand, which she promptly withdrew from him. She shifted her 
seat, and looked beyond the opposite window from that at which 
he was sitting. He was desperately put out. He did not know 
how he had offended her. He edged himself over and tried to look 
into hey fpce, Slye stared into the trees and sidewalks, 


CRADLE AND SLADE. 


;?85 


“Mina,” he remarked softly, “what have 1 done?” 

“ Ruined the sheriff,” she replied, neither turning nor looking 
at him. 

“ Ruined?” 

“ Yes; 1 heard you advise him to buy shares in gold mines. Ynd 
he is so sirrple; he is so simple 1 He has bought them, and — tell 
him to gallop!” 

He put out his head and shouted, “ Voulez vous galoper ?” They 
seemed lo get on a little taster. 

“ What have you heard?” he asked. 

“ 1 have heard the brokers laugh, and seen the Frenchmen shrug 
tlieir shoulders, and the woman look horrible— horrible! 1 am sure 
there is something wrong. 1 know there is ruin. Do not speak 
to me, Mr. Usher.” 

He sunk back in despair in the remotest corner of the carriage. 

She continued to look out, and they retained that relative atti- 
tude till the carriage drew abruptly up at the hotel door. 

Alina fled into the court and upstairs to their sitting-room. She 
wa? greatly afraid that the sherifl might be keeping his engage- 
ment; but no. There he was on his sola, sound asleep; nor did 
her swift and excited entrance sc much as waken him. 

“ Papa dear!” she said, kneeling beside the sofa. 

He groaned a little, but did not waken. 

“ Papa!” 

He moved, but still slept. 

“Papa!” 

“ les,” he said, coming into a sitting attitude as if he had been 
suddenly pierced in the foot. 

“ By Jove!” he said, diving for his watch, “ I’ve slept through 
that engagement. It’s provoking. But why are you back so soon? 
You can’t have gone half the distance you intended. You can’t 
have quarreled. What’s the matter?” 

“ Papa, we went to the Cascade, and when there, some men sat 
down in front of us. One of them, Frank said, was the operator 
who was placing the Compagnie d’Or. Well, all the time I sat 
there they did nothing but pelt it with ridicule. They do not be 
lieve in tbe gold; and 1 know you have money in it, and will lose 
it.” 

“ Singular!” 

Usher and a waiter came into the room at the same moment, the 
fcrpier with a dejected expressicn, the latter bearing a telegram,- 


286 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


The sheriff tore open the telegram, while the advocate sat dcwn 
uncomfortably to study Mina in side glances. 

“ Il’m. Something up It dovetails— it dovetails, Mina, my 
dear. Very singular, indeed! We must return to Scotland at once 
— break up oui pleasant holiday, and get away to the seat of my 
jurisdiction. Your news from the Cascade and mine from Oiley 
go together. It is provoking in the extreme— just when we had 
settled down, and they had discovered my taste in salads to a 
nicety.” 

“ May 1 ask what has happened, sheriff?” asked Usher feebly, 
swallowing mouthfuls of chagrin at Mina’s behavior. 

‘‘ You may, Frank, as 1 can’t tell you. All 1 can say is that my 
good and learned substitute has telegraphed to say, ‘ Your presence 
would greatly assist us at a curious crisis in the management of the 
Buddersdale estates;’ which means, 1 rather think, no gold. By 
the way, Frank, 1 took your advice, and gave Porteous a sort of 
carte-Uanche to go for raw sovereigns.” 

” He is an honest and capable man,” said the advocate. 

” 1 have no reason to doubt him. He aways pays me mj’’ divi- 
dends to an hour, and seems to select his investments with an eye 
to making the best of the existing markets.” 

” 1 know there is something wrong,” said Mina. 

‘‘Pooh! pooh! What have ladies got to do with business? 
I^othing. They always fall foul of important points and play into 
the hands of the enemy. A false alarm, Mina. But tell me, are 
you aDle to be a traveler en route to Scotland to-morrow? Do you 
feel-” 

” Papa, there is real danger. 1 can not give you evidence. But 
1 feel there is.” 

‘‘ Woman’s instinct, Mina. It is correct once in a thousand in- 
stances. 1 know Porteous. Frank knows him. I trust him. So 
does Frank. Let business alone, my dear girl. Do you see your 
way to returning to morrow, without deadly inconvenience?” 

” 1 can do what ycu wish.” 

” Hovw long do you stay, Frank?’* 

” 1 could return to-morrow.” 

Mina left the room. 

** 1 ou could?” 

“Yes.” 

” I’m not certain, Frank, that my little girl hasn’t the right end 
of the slick. And, what's more, about this gold business, 1 haven’t 
taken the trouble to inquire whether it is limited or unlimited, and 


CRADLE AXD SPADE. 


2sr 

whether, iu the event of a hurst-up, there are not responsibilities to 
the extent of one’s means.” 

“No?” 

“No; and X shouldn’t mind, Frank, if you look these papers — 
let me see, here they are— and tell Porteous that, as 1 am no longer 
in Paris, 1 don’t care a rop about shares in Kuddersdale gold. X 
have been summoned to Kuddersdale. Mill knows what he is 
about, Iheie is something mighty far wrong. 1 can’t judge from 
this telegram. But 1 have a feeling that 1 am wanted. And, upon 
my word, Frank, though I have no belief in the sudden instincts 
of women, Mina’s earnesiness about these shares impresses me. Did 
you hear nothing?” 

‘‘ No, nothing, 1 was away. 1 went away to avoid Porteous.” 

‘‘ To avoid him— why? 1 invested to a great extent because he 
had your confidence.” 

” NYell, only because Mina wanted the carriage.” 

“You overheard nothing?” 

” Not a word. 1 believe it’s a— a sort of hallucination.” 

” Now, Frank, tell me. 1 know why you have come here, and 
approve of the reason. You want to marry Mina. Has she accept- 
ed you? She is so strange— of course, all girls are at that period — 
she is so peculiar that 1 can’t make out. Are you the fortunate 
fellow?” 

” I hope, sheriff, 1 am. But she has given me no assurance- 
only hints. I am afraid the other man— Nixon — has still a great 
hold of her htaii.” 

” Well, that’s love. Love must wait. It isn’t half so desperate 
as it thinks it is. But it must wait. Now, Usher, this is serious. 
Mill is nothing if he isn’t peremptory and exact. I must return 
and discuss my disappointment on the road. There’s some little 
truth in Mina’s belief that 1 took shares— additional cnes— on the 
strength of your recommendation. Stay on, then, a day, and tell 
Porteous to withdraw. I don’t ant to lose my poor little fortune. ” 

I will with pleasure.” 

‘‘You might, then. 1 have a great deal to do, and 1 promise 
you Mina’s hand.” 

‘‘ Good-night. 1 only hope she will abide by your decision. God 
knows I have risked burking my career to gain her love.” 

** Good-night.” 

•‘ Good-night,” 

Usher left the hotel by himself, and went in search of Porteous. 
JXe knew his hotel in the Bou'evards. He drove straight there. 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


“ He is gone to Marseilles,” said a waiter in reply to a question 
he put to him. 


CHAPTER LVlll. 

A CRISIS. 

The sherifi’s telegram did not misrepresent facts. There had 
certainly been a crisis at Ruddeisdale. It came about in this way. In 
sherill-suhstitute Mib's office at Oiley was an old clerk of Leslie’s. 
He became aware that procjedings were likely to be taken against 
the factor. Partly for the sake of auld lang syne, partly because 
he saw a rare prosjiectk/e advantage in giving his old master a w'ord 
of warning, he took an outside seat on Mr, Laggan’s coach, and 
came down in the evening after Isiixon’s interview. The bank was 
shut, but Leslie was still at work in his pallor. When the name 
was given him through the shut door of a passage running between 
the bank and the house, he opened his door waiting, ^he Oiley man 
stepped back from it horror-struck. He haidly recognized in the 
blazing face, unearthly eyes, aud twisted mouth of the man who 
looked at him, the former master whose confidence he had won 
and whom he had remuneratively served once, and again since he 
had left him. 

“ Come in,” said Leslie, huskily, closing and locking the door. 

The clerk followed him into the bank parlor where he was 
amazed to see heaps ot notes lying about the floor, a pile of gold on 
a chair, silver coins lying in handfuls on the floor. 

Business, business,” said Roderick. ” Business, Banks. Hard 
at work. The inspector comes to-morrow. A sharp fellow, lie 
knows what he’s about. He’ll be the governor of the Bank of Eng- 
land yet. It must be. And I’m preparing for him.” 

” So 1 see, sir,” remarked Banks. 

” Help yourself, Banks,” said the factor, waving his arm over 
the scattered money. ‘‘ Help yourself, you’ve always been a good 
friend to me— always. Fol-de-rol, tiddle-doll, fol de rol, tiddle- 
dee! There’s plenty of it there. Banks. 1 said it would do. 1 
knew there was plenty ot it it they only dug for it. And they’ve 
dug and there it is! That’s it. taken out o’ the diggings. It’s a 
secret; hut you’re not a tiailor. Banks.” 

‘‘No, my good friend.” 

** And these pound-notes, you see them — you see them. Very 
good, they grow on the trees. They pull them off in basketfuls 


CK A DLK A XT) SPADT!* 


m 

and bring them here. It's a new discovery, i’ll patent it. lii Ip 
yourself, Banks.” 

The Oiley man thought his former master had been over-indulg- 
ing himself. He lauirhed quietly at the invitation to help himself, 
became sudaeuly serious, and standing over Leslie remarked: 
‘‘You’re in danger, sir.” 

” In danger?” 

‘‘ Yes. There’s a young fellow lives hereabouts has come to the 
.sberifl’s, and 1 know tor a fact that a criminal information will be 
laid against j'ou.” 

” A young fellow of the name of Nixon?” 

‘‘ YTes.” 

‘‘Ay, ay. That’s the mother’s doing. That’s her back again. 
Help yourself, Banks. Take a handful when ’ ou see it.” 

‘* It’s not yours to give, sir.” 

” A criminal information?” said Leslie. 

‘‘ Yes, sir.” 

‘‘ Banks, can you load a gun?” 

” 1 used to be able.” 

‘‘ Take that key, go upstairs to my room— Fol de-rol— tiddle-dol- 
fol de-rol— tiddle-dee! Go up and find my cartridge-box and rifle, 
and load the gun. We’ll see, then— ay, then. Help yourself. 
Banks.” 

‘‘ What would ye want to do, sir?” 

“Shoot, shoot— kill, and do away with them— the whole three 
of them— Nancy, Elspeth, Joseph. Quick, quick about it,- Banks! 
Load the gun, and bring me it. There’s your reward lying at ray 
feet— silver and gold and pound-notes.” 

Banks went upstairs and loaded the gun with blank-cartridge. 
He put caps on, and brought it to Leslie. 

When he entered he saw the chair with the coins on it tumbled, 
and Its contents scattered on the door. 

Leslie was leaning at bis desk, his hands grasping his bursting 
head. Yet there were no signs of drinking about the room. As 
Banks entered he swept Ids elbow across his desk and threw a great 
inkstand among the scattered notes. 

“ Let it lie!’’ he roared, as Banks attempted to recover it; “ let 
it lie. A gun, a gun! Hold, man! Keep the muzzle down. You 
don’t want to shoot me?” 

A look of abiect terror came into his face, as, hands up, he re- 
treated to a corner of the room and turned his back. 

Banks began to suspect he was mad. 


—I 


290 


CKADLE AND 8PADE. 

“ See, sir,” he cried, ‘‘ I’ve laid it down. There it is.” 

l^eslie abruptly faced about, became conscious of the scattered 
coin, stopped. 

” Ah. you robber— you vagabond thiei! You came here for my 
money; you want to run away with my sovereigns I'll— I’ll 
shoot you.” 

‘‘ Don’t shoot!” said Banks, pale and a little terrified lest blank- 
cartridge were not inside the rifle. ” Don’t shoot, Mr. Leslie, sir — 
don’t. If you take my life away you’ll lake away the life of an 
innocent man. You know that— you know I’m innocent, and that 
1 came here to tell you of danger— danger and a criminal informa- 
tion!” 

” Shake hands,” said Leslie, passing his hand on his face, and 
breathing hard; ‘‘shake hands, and here’s a suitable reward for 
you.” 

fie stooped among the scattered thousands of pounds, shillings, 
sixpences, sovereigns, notes of every value, and found a tour-pen- 
ny-piece. 

‘‘ There!” he said, clutching his rifle, ” there! You are well re- 
warded, Banks. You’ve given me good news— good news! Go.” 
And he clasped his hand upon the coin as it it were a fortune, and 
showed his friend to the door; from which his friend took his way 
to Oiley with all due expedition. 

’* Criminal information,” murmured Leslie, coming out into the 
silent street half an hour afterward, ‘‘ Crim— ila, ha, hai Loaded 
—yes, loaded. Three lives in it— three. They must go— all three 
of them — all three 1 hope they’re— they’re pre— yes, three at a 
shot!” 

He stole out from his room into the street. It was not far to 
INancy’s. He crept as he approached— crept and fired both barrels 
aimlessly into a window. 

Then a quiet policeman strolled round a corner, and saw him on 
his back, yelling with a mingled sense of fear and triumph, 

CHAPTER LIX. 

DISCOVERIES. 

The sheriff ran away from Paris, taking Mina with him, and 
left Usher behind to tell Porteoiis to recall the shaies in gold. 

Mina was not sorry to leave, IShe was tired of lovers. Nixon 
had disappointed her. Usher had not risen to the pinnacle to 
which her expectation had raised him. She had a new and strange 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


291 


clinging to the man who had rescued her in babyhood, biought her 
up as his own and treated her with more than a father’s aliection 
and care. It was with unusual show of quiet love that she accom- 
panied him home again, protesting to his great astonishment that 
Ear is was nothing to her; that she did not mind about staying m 
London to see Hyde Park, Piccadilly, and the theaters; that she 
preferred Durie Den to all else. 

Splendide mendax," said the sheriti over and over again; “ but 
1 suppose 1 am bound to believe you. It suits me to think so, 
Alina. You are very good to fib so agreeably. 1 believe vastly in 
truth, but fibs are the lubricators of life.” 

“ Now you are profound,” the girl would say, and 1 don’t un- 
derstand you, 1 never fib. 1 mean what 1 say. 1 do not care for 
Paris, and London is a howling wilderness to me, and 1 do prefer 
Durie Den.” 

‘‘Very good, Alina.” 

They went back to {Scotland as they had come, past Newcastle 
and along the east coast. At Newcastle the sheriff got a newspa- 
per. On this occasion he had been awake all night, and the disen- 
chanted Alina had slept. He was pleased to have his newspaper to 
break the monotony of his wakefulness, and as he fastened the 
window against the fresh air of the morning, picked up his flask lo 
see if there was any more of that light, mellow French brandy in 
it, he had a momentary cheerfulness at returning to Scotland, in 
spile of a little anxiety. 

His anxiety changed to excitement when he saw ” Scots College,” 
in three and a half columns— the first part of his great article to 
the ” Caledonian.” 

” Alina,” he shouted to the dozing girl, *‘ here’s a welcome back. 
Look at that.” And lie held out the fresh sheet to her. 

” I'm so glad,” she said, falling asleep again. 

The sheriff was nol hardened agains! his own productions. He 
had not got the lengtii of regarding them with unfeeling indiffer 
ence or positive contempt. An article was an aiticle to him, and 
he read his ” {Scots College” over with an enthusiasm worthy of 
a first appearance, at the age of twelve, in the poets’ corner of a 
journal with a limited circulation. Yes, it was a good solid con- 
tribution, he assured himself; and for sixty miles he perused noth- 
ing else. Then his eye fell upon a couple of paragraphs arranged 
beneath his cwn article. One of them, headeij ” The Ruddersdale 
Gold-fields/’ ran in this style; 


CRADLE AJs^D SPADE. 


2 ^^ 


“ An extraordinary incident occurred at the village of Eudders- 
dale on the evening of the — th. JVJr. Eoderick Leslie, the much- 
respected and able manager of the estates, having left his house, 
presented himself, with a rifle, at the window of Airs. Harper's 
Inn. He there discharged both barrels, and muttering, ‘ They are 
gone, they will give no more trouble,’ disappeared into a neighbor 
ing moor. Though closely followed, he evaded the pursuit of the 
night constable, and was lost to view. Next morning he was seen 
striding toward the gold-diggings. Being accosted, he assured four 
men, who surrounded him. That he was the Duke of Burrows, and 
added that it they dared to touch their hats to him they would be 
discharged on the spot. As it was evident that he was laboring 
under a temporary aberration of intellect, he was immediately over- 
powered and secured, and brought back to the village. He has 
since been removed to the county jail, Oiley, at the instigation of 
Sheriff Alill. Much talk has been caused by such a step having 
been taken, as it is rumored there are causes other than madness 
for the incarceration.” 

The other paragraph was headed ” Compagnie d’Or,” and ran 
to the following effect: 

‘‘ Eumors are rife in well-informed circles that the Compagnie 
d’Or will be speedily wound up. The shareholders are mostly for. 
eign, probably French. The gold is believed for the most part to 
he rainbow gold.” 

Sheriff Durie foigct the ” Scots College ” when he read the para- 
graphs, which were arranged as if they had been notes to his own 
contribution. 

“Leslie mad! In prison! Why, Mill would never do that un- 
less he had a criminal information against him! The company 
wound up! Poor Alina! I’m afraid your little instinct was quite 
correct.” 

But Mina slept, and he did not awaken her. At Edinburgh he 
put her into his carriage, and tcld her he would follow to Durie 
Den about midday; in the meantime he had some business to look 
after. When he did follow her he had a serious face as he came 
into his house on Corstorphine Hill. 

“ Papa dear, you are anxious,” Alina said. 

“ Yes, dear, a little. 1 shall have to go North this evening— to 
Kuddersdale. 1 am tremendously wanted. 1 suppose you don’t 
want to extend your travels?” 

“It you wish it, papa.” 

“You would rather not, 1 see.” 

“1 should be afraid to meet Joseph Nixou,” 

** J dare say you are right,” 


C'KADLE AKl) SPADE, 




“Has anything happened, papa, that 1 might know?” 

“ Well, only that the Compagnie d’Or is buist up in Faiis, and 
Leslie is in prison. The gold was a fraud. My broKei was a 
fraud. He has disappeared from Marseilles— with plunder proba- 
bly — with all my little income, in fact. Mina, 1 regret nothing ex- 
cept that it leaves me without a fraction to dower you with.” 

“ 1 shall never be doweied. 1 shall prefer to have nothing. Let 
me abandon these lovers and their requests. Let me stay in Durie 
Den — forever. Let me be the light of your life, and 1 shall be 
happy. 1 am weary, weary of love-making. It is all hollow and 
insincere, and 1 have begun to hate it.” 

“Poor Mina!” said the sherifit, lightly kissing her blow. 

The same evening he took his way to the north of Scotland, and 
next afternoon, while Minu was renewing her acquaintanceship 
with a number of budding rose-trees in a remote corner of the gar- 
den, Usher made his appearance. He did not at first observe her, 
but presently he saw her stooping figure, and he joined her among 
the loses. 

“ Ah, Mina!” 

She said nothing in reply, but looked into her flewers with a 
determined air. 

“ I’ve traveled post-haste at your back. I've had such bad news 
to carry with me.” 

“ Yes, you have ruined the sherifi.” 

“ Nc, net so bad as that.” 

“Quite as bad.” 

“ No, he is still sheriff, and if he has lost a little money, that does 
not deprive him of his position.” 

“ ifou have ruined him. 1 heard you advise him to take shares. 
He believed in your judgment, and took them. Dear papal’ 

“ Where is he?” 

“In Ruddersdale— a ruined man.” 

“ No, you talk without knowledge. And if he be ruined, ]\lina 
— if he be ruined ” — in a hopeful voice—” you know that 1 am not 
ruined, that 1 am prepared to take all responsibilities on my shoul- 
ders. Only say that you will be my wife, Mina, and all will be 
well.” 

Mina straightened herself, and looking him in the face, her eyes 
deepening into an earnestness of expression which he had never 
seen before, replied: 

“No, Frank Usher, no. There was a time w'hen 1 tiioughi 1 
should love to marry. 1 thought 1 should delight in being a good 


294 : 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


maa’B wife. 1 gave my heart first of all lo Joseph Nixon. You 
whispered him away, and I recalled it, and made a present of it to 
you. You have ruined the sheriff, and 1 decide to keep it — keep it 
for him, dear guardian, dear friend, dear — fa— as long as he cares 
to have it.” 

“ Dear guardian, dear friend!” murmured the advocate. ‘‘ You 
will marr}’^ him. You have loved him all along. Y’ou have been 
playing off Nixon against me, and me against Nixon, and it is the 
sheriff you love.” 

‘‘No, 1 shall not marry anybody. 1 shall not.” But he had 
turned on his heel and left Durie Den. 

******* 

At Rudder sdale the sheriff found a good deal of confusion. Les- 
lie had gone mad, and was hauled away to prison. Two such events 
had not occurred within the memory of man in that region. It 
seemed to the village as if the queen bad been beheaded in London, 
or some tremendous constitulicnal change occurred, which must 
affect the cider of the seasons and the destiny of lives. To add to 
the confusion, the diggers had struck work and come back again. 
They went about denouncing in public and laughing the gobl to 
scorn. They unanimously and with united hiccoughs denied its 
existence. And the fishermen still maintained iheii attitude of 
waiting laziness. Sc that there was a hubbub in the square the 
evening that Sheriff Durie, Sheriff Mill, and a solicitor from the 
Court of Sessions sat in Leslie’s upper room among his papers. 
The public outside was waiting for information, and getting drunk 
and riotous in expectation of it. The investigators within were 
examining (he factor’s ‘‘ record ” since he first had come to his 
position in Ruddersdale. Bit by bit a strange story came out. It 
may be written in a few sentences, though at one point of the dis- 
covery Sheriff Durie laid his head upon the factor’s table and 
sobbed. The discoveries were easily made. Until that occasion 
when Leslie had got oet all the money of the bank and tossed it 
heedlessly on the floor, he had been a good business man. W hen 
he was sane he did his duty to the estates, but early errors had been 
too much for him, and he had collapsed under difficulties of his 
own creating, years and years ago. As the sheriffs and the solicitor 
sal, aifled by a confidential clerk of Leslie’s, they gradually un- 
raveled it all. In the first place, a selection of letters which had 
passed between Leslie and Sir Thomas Dunbeath in Australia ex- 
plained the existence of the strips of a deed of conveyance which 
had puzzled all Farliaraent House. These letters revealed the fact 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


295 


that Leslie had a son by the wife whom ho had forcibly removed 
from his house. Tc that son, in view of Leslie’s kindness to Sir 
Thomas’s daughter, the absent baronet had devised the tenement in 
which the banker lived. 

“ If,” ran one of the letters, ‘‘ he goes to the law and serves me 
as his father has done, he will have well earned it. But in the 
meantime it will save you from anxiety since you complain of a 
failure of crops, and rot among the sheep. You may have nothing 
to leave him, should you die; but here at least is this house.” It 
shortly came out in another letter that Joseph JNixon was the son 
of Roderick Leslie, that he was wearing his mother’s name, and, 
as it appeared, that he had been kept out of his father’s way be- 
cause of a detestable resemblance to her. Nixon had been support- 
ed in an underhand wa}'^ and without kn(>w ledge of parentage, 
chiefly for that reason. 

” Uod bless me I” said Bherifi Durie, after that mystery had been 
unraveled from a bunch of well-arranged letters. ” How did my 
poor Mina come to have the fragments of that deed in her posses- 
sion?” 

‘‘ There’s something to explain,” said Sheriff Mill. 

“Gentlemen,” said the solicitor for the Court of Sessions, who 
had been intently reading a couple of letters. “ Sir Thomas has 
been dead for at least fifteen years. Leslie has been paying an in- 
come to an Australian solicitor to keep the death out of the obitu- 
aries, and there is an heir.” 

“ An heir !” 

“ An heir!” 

“ Well, an heiress.” 

“ Read— read.” 

“ Here is a letter daterl— ‘ 1 quite approve,’ it goes on — ‘ 1 quite 
approve of what: you have done in quietly removing my daughter 
from her mother and sending her for a tune to live with the mount- 
ain people. She will be well nursed and cared lor. She will have 
good air in her childhood, and when 1 return .1 shall be glad to see 
her. That her mother died in giving birth to her is a little painful 
to me, though 1 could never have acknowledged her before the 
world. My good friend and trusty factor, you and 1 iiave been 
rather severely tried in the matter of wives. 1 am only following 
your suit, not only in suppressing my wife’s name and death, but 
in keeping out of sight for a time my daughter’s birth and name. 
See that the little girl is properly cared for. Let her for a little 
have the name of the people among whom she lives. But accustom 


cradlt: and spade. 


290 

her to the use ot the name Elspeth, when she comes to know what 
it means. Elspeth is my grandmother’s name, and she is the only 
woman who ever took the trouble of offering me a kindness. Els- 
peth therefore let it be.’ Then,” pursued the solicitor, looking at 
the date of another letter, ” comes the announcement of his death. 
And an unscrupulous rascal the fellow is, for he hints thal he 
knows there are reasons why Sir Thomas wanted to keep his name 
from the public, while he would have no objection to continuing 
the fraud—he doesn’t call it a fraud — it steady remuneration were 
forthcoming. That explains a good deal, I think.” 

Sheriff Mill took the letter and judiciously observed; 

” Roderick Leslie married a woman who became intolerable to 
him. Roderick sent her away to Creiff. She bore him a son 
there. The son was sent on to Edinburgh after her death, at a 
time when he forgot his own mother. He was treated as a bastard, 
and paid for as such by Roderick. The influence of the factor 
upon the master is manifest. The master’s marriage was beneath 
him. 1 can make that out — arcades amho. It was beneath him, 
and it was secret; and doubtless Roderick had a hand in it. It 
well suited his position that Sir Thomas should put himself egre- 
giously in his power.” 

” What I can nbt understand is,” pursued Sheriff Durie, ” how 
my little girl should come to wear these parchments. Where there 
has been so much that is mysterious — ” 

A loud knocking came to the door. 

“It can not be opened,” said Sheriff Mill. 

“ No admittance!” roared the solicitor. 

“ It’s Mrs. Harper,” said Sherill Durie, and rising he opened the 
door. The innkeeper, with haggard face and unkempt haii, tot- 
tered into the room. 

“ Gentlemen, I’m not long for this world. The hand of Gcd is 
upon me. Let me speak what 1 know, and be done. Wae’s me. 
Sheriff Durie!” 

“We are engaged,” said the sheriff, “on matters of life and 
death interests, Mrs, Harper. If you have not something of im 
mense importance to communicate, we can hardly listen to it.” 

The three men saw’, however, that she had something on her 
mind which it wuis well for them to hear. 

“ Wae’s me!” she repeated, rocking on a chair. “ It’s sixteen— 
it’s eighteen years ago, sheriff; your wife was young and bonnie, 
and in an evil hour she came to our coasts. Her brither was wi’ 
her, and they had been livin’ at Oiley, and you were to join them, 


CKADLE AND SPADE. 


.207 


but something happened in Embro, and you were keepii. It was, 
may be, as weel, for if you had come you would have gane to 
Granton on board the ill-fated steamer that never reached its dcsti 
nation.” 

‘‘No, God knows,” said the sheriff. 

” Never reached it— no; but a’body w’asna drooned that got 
credit for’t. Your wife’s brither was drooned, and the duke’s 
butler was drooned, and auld George Mowat o’ the Square, and a’ 
the sailors. ” 

‘‘ And my wife, Mis. Harper?” 

1 he old woman paused; the lines of her mouth deepened. There 
was absolute silence in the room. The slnrifl painfully bent to- 
ward her. 

” Your w’ife. Sheriff Durie, delivered a daughter into my hands, 
and peacefully passed away. Dei name was on the passenger list 
o’ the sieamer, and Roderick keepit it there. It was a wild, wild 
night, and 1 w’as Roderick’s housekeeper at the time on the hill- 
farm, which he afterward gave up for its unpleasant memories. 
But she was brought to bed o’ a daughter, and it was her fear that 
such would be, though premature, or she wad ha’e gone sooth wi’ 
her brither. Ay, ay — it was a stormy night, such as 1 have no 
recollection o’ since; an’ a ship came ashore i’ the Slacks, an’ nae- 
thing could be done for her. But Roderick signify in’ to me to 
keep mither an’ babe till he got a doctor, an’ no to open the door 
to anybody o’ high cr low degree, 1 waited. But he came back 
wi’ no doctor — only Peter M’Craw the fisherman, and a man from 
the mouth o’ the Cranbury burn. He took Peter up and showed 
him the bairn. He showed it to the other man at the room-door, 
an’ he took them awa’, and I heard them sweerin’ an aith, an’ there 
was drink an’ money goin’; and Roderick he came in and said to 
me, ‘ Nance Harper, ye've been a gude freend to me. There’s [ 
word o' the steam-boat that left Ruddersdale havin’ gane tae the 
bottom o’ the sea. The sheriff’s wife, she’s aboord a’body thinks. 
Now, here’s Sir Thomas Dunbeath in a great difficulty aboot his 
daughler. She must be kept out o’ sight for a little. Now, here's 
a babe that belongs to nobody. It’ll be presented to the sheriff o’ 
the county as a babe that came ashore from the wreck on the 
Stacks. There’s no difficulty, Nancy, and you’ll be doing me a 
service, Sjr Thomas a service, and the babe, may be, too, for the 
secret will not be kept up too long. No, not by any means; not 
longer, Nancy, than you’re satisfied that fair-play is to come out 
of it all.’ Sirs, 3 succumbed, after great debates in my mind. I 


298 


CEADLE AKD SPADE. 


gave in, and promised to do for Roderick what would convenience 
Bir Thomas— to keep Elspelh Gun, as she has been ca’d, from the 
eye o’ the public, healthy and snug, and waitin’ her lather’s return, 
and to let Roderick do what his superior wisdom raicht suggest tc 
him about the babe that was born in the hoose aifter the steamer 
went dooQ. (JSow, sir— 1 could take a little walei. 1 have na long 
to live. What wi’ one thing and another, I'm a woman at the end 
of my tether, and pleased to be there.) Kow, sir, God put it in 
your heart to come here and investigate, and there was some hard 
sweeriu’, but you had been under bereavement, and this little babe in 
the cradle touched ye, and ye said, ‘ Mr, Leslie, could there be any 
harm in my taking this little stranger home to educate?’ ‘ JSIone,’ 
1 said, ‘ none. Sheriff Durie; she’s yours, if you ‘11 have her. An’ ye 
took her away to the sooth, father of her unbeknown, an’ now — 
an’ now — ” 

The old woman raised her hands to her eyes, and the tears fell 
through her fingers. 

The sheriff was himself overcome, and laid his brow on the edge 
cf the table. 

“ God bless me!” said the solicitor. 

“You must be aware, Mrs. Harper, that you were placed in your 
hotel by Mr. Leslie, and that it has the very bad look of a woman 
engaged in a crime being paid to conceal the crime,” said the 
sheriff-substitute. 

‘‘Don’t raise that question ’' observed Sheriff Durie, exhibiting 
a face to his colleagues from which law had departed and emotion 
was supreme. 

” Go on, Mrs. Harper,” said the solicitor. 

‘‘ Sirs, 1 have nothing more to say, but that Sir Thomas’s daugh- 
ter is in my house, feeding on the best, occupying my best room, 
and enjoying it. And now Lll put myself at your disposal, for I 
have not long to live. Ah! Roderick’s mad.” 

” You may go, Mrs. Harper,” said the sheriff. 

‘‘ And Roderick’s mad,” she murmured, tottering to the dcor. 

‘‘ Eternal justice!” said the sheriff. ” 1 can make no inquiries. 
Tell me to-morrow. Mill, what was the result of your inquiries,” 

Then he left the house for the Duke’s Arms. 


CEADLE AKB SPABE. 


299 


CHAPTER LX. 

THE END. 

A MONTH after the events related in the last chapter, the sheriff 
sat in his drawing-room in Hurie Den. Everything had become 
quite clear under invest igation. It might have been as clear six- 
teen or eighteen years before, had not Roderick been a o>iich-re- 
spected man, upon whose doings there was no suspicion, or not 
enough to challenge investigation. The story was strange certain- 
ly, hut no more strange than many as true. Roderick liad been a 
suppressicmist. He had suppressed his wife; he had suppressed 
his son half a dozen years before Sir Thomas Dunbeatb hail mar- 
ried. When Sir Thomas was tired of his wife— who was a come- 
ly woman, born on a remote part of his own estate, who served 
him — he induced him to suppress her. He was able, when Sir 
Thcmas was in Australia, to have his child temporarily suppressed. 
He suppressed the sheriff’s wife, who died on his hill-farm; and he 
would have suppressed his daughter, had it not belter suited his 
purpose that she should carry off on her person an aggravating strip 
of a deed of conveyance to Sheriff Durie, relating to his own son. 

“ It’s a queer coil,” said Ruddersdale, and Ruddersdale was cor- 
rect; but with that w’e have noining to do. It was not a bit more 
queer than many things which happen in this ancient unsuspecting 
kingdom. AVell, Roderick went mad, and remained so; and w'e 
shall follow his destiny nc further. Raney retired to her bed to 
die, and looked so like death that in the adjustment of rewards and 
punishments the law overlooked her existence. There was plenty 
of evidence without her. It was evidence the law wanted, and not 
victims. The law left Nancy lying feeble, but capable of recovery, 
in her bed. As for the rest, it may be discovered in tw’O short 
conversations. At Durie Den the sheiiff sat at his (irawing-room 
window; JVIina sat at his knee. It was twilight, as it had often 
been before when they spoke tenderly to each other. 

” My girl,” he was saying, ” though Heaven has vouchsafed a 
ray or two of white light and shewn us where we are, that does not 
mean that 1 am going to selfishly absorb you.” 

” 1 have no other wish.” 

” iStill, 1 think you ought to marry. 1 shall die one of these 
days.” 


300 


CRADLE AND SPADE. 


“ Don’t say so, father.” 

” You see the flag of death hoisted on my skull without my 
doing. 1 have turned from gray to white in a few weeks. 1 have 
no fortune, Mina; it is all gone. The gold fraud has sw’allowed it 
all up- every penny of the oil-works. Not a fraction left; nothing 
that roj- worthy uncle saved. All gone!” 

‘‘ It was Frank Usher's doing; 1 heard him ad rise you. 1 shall 
never marry— no, never.” 

” Dori't say that, Mina. Frank will be Lord Advocate of Scot- 
land— a great position, my girl. You don’t realize the height of it. 
He might as well be Mr. Gladstone or Mr. Disraeli— the only men 
1 can compare him with. He is worth holding on to. Love him, 
Mina: Jove him if you can.” 

” Father, dear, you do not understand. How can j'ou? All my 
life 1 have lived without a father, without a mother, and it has al- 
ways seemed to me that there was the roaring of a great sea at my 
origin— nothing else. Coming from the Infinite, as Frank used to 
say. And the Infinite in that sense, is to me mist on the hills, clouds 
in the sky, high winds, distant billows — anything, anything, father, 
that is far ofi: and away, and not related to me, and cold, cold and 
unknowm No, 1 am your daughter, and it contents me quite.” 

The sherifi laid his hand on her head. He was certainly very 
old-looking within a few weeks. 

“You will learn to love him, Mina. You have no feeling about 
—about Joseph/' 

“ 1 think not. No — no, 1 have no feeling about him.” 

” Then, by and by, when all this feeling is gone, you will try 
to care about Frank?” 

There was the sound of footsteps on the sheriff’s walK. He 
looked out and saw Usher. 

” Mina, 1 asked him to come. It is Frank. He loves you. Love 
me, darling, and be generous.” 

He kissed her and left the room, and Usher was shown upstairs. 
******* 

Elspeth Gun would not leave Nancy’s. She occupied the room 
in which she had been born, and whilst Nancy was ill in bed she 
remained there, partly attending the innkeeper, partly trying to 
comprehend what it was the solicitor from the Court of Session 
had to explain to her. 

” Yonr father,” explained the solicitor on one occasion, ” de- 
visea to Joseph Nixon — i.e., Joseph Nixon Leslie — the tenement in 
which the populace of Ruddersdale bank. VVe can dispute his 


CRADLE AKD SPADE. 


301 


claim to the house, because the deed is deficient. But there are 
other circumstances to he taken into account," 

‘‘ Yes," said Elspeth, who within a tew weeks had arrived at a 
perfect comprehension of the English language. *' Y’es; 1 love him, 
and 1 understand that the house is mine, as the daughter of my 
father.” 

" You are right." 

" And what’ll happen to my father and mother?" 

‘‘ Oliver Gun and his wife?” 

‘‘ Yes, indeed." 

” Ihey will occupy what position you may choose to give them." 

” And is there nothing more about Joseph Nixon Leslie?” 

‘‘ Nothing." 

** Surely my father must have known how good and brave a man 
he was when he left him the house.” 

” Not he, Miss Dunbeath — " 

Don’t call me that, please. You’re takin’ me off, or it sounds 
like that. Give me a little time to get used to it. 1 woulii like to 
see Mr. Nixon? 

"That is not difficult.” 

It was not very difficult, for by this time the village had come 
round to itself again. The miners, paid their w^ages in full, had 
put on their coats and gone home. There was no crowding in the 
Square. A tfw Highlanders from the West had arrived to fish, 
and evening hymns of praise had been heard in the bay, as pious 
skippers had " worship ” before beginning to fish for herring. Any 
talk there was in the streets w'as low and subdued, and troubled 
nobody inside the houses. Nixon was to be found on the pier or 
at the late Peter M’Craw’s. He w'as easily found, and the sciicrtor 
disappeared with a gesture of impatience and contempt, as he came 
into the room which Nancy had assigned to Elspeth. 

" 1 don’t know what to call you now," she said, smiling on him 
and holding out her hand. 

" 1 do. Call me your servant. Y’ou are Elspeth, Miss Dunbeath. 
1 am simply Joseph Nixon Leslie, factor of Ruddersdale.” 

" Factor." 

"Yes. They have discovered a provision in the will of your 
father, that, if 1 had been trained to the law, 1 shall have the first 
choice of accepting the place on Roderick Leslie’s demission or 
death. • 

" Poor Roderick!" 

" My poor father! — yes." 


302 


CKADLE AKD SPADE. 


“ And you will take it?” 

‘‘1 will, Elspetli, if will take me.” 

“ 1 promised you my love a long time ago.” 

‘‘Yes, three weeks ago; but will it last till the Court ot Session 
says Miss Dunbealh is ber own mistress?” 

” 1 have never known love before.” 

‘‘But you may afterward. You may see somebody you may 
care for better than me. 1 once loved a girl, and 1 thought 1 
should care for no one better than her.” 

“ But you hadn’t seen me?” 

‘‘ No, Elspeth, 1 hadn’t seen you.” . ^ 


THE END. 





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414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

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112 The Waters of Marah. John 

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114 Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

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115 Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

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120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

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150 For Himself Alone. T. W. 

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151 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blath- 

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156 “For a Dream’s Sake.’’ Mrs. 

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161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

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174 Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

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219 Lady Clare : or. The Master of 

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374 

381 

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545 Vida’s Story. By the author of 

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612 My Wife’s Niece. By the au- 

thor of Dr. Edith Romney ” 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet. Wilkie 
Collins 10 

614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths... 10 

615 Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

616 The Sacred Nugget. By B. L, 

Farjeon 20 

617 Like Dian's Kiss. By ” Rita 20 


NO. PRICE. 


618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 

mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

619 Joy; or, The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford. By May Crom- 
melin 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea. M. Linskill. .. 20 

621 The Warden. By Anthony 

Trollope 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. 

By Anthony Trollope 10 

623 My' Lady’s Money. By WTlkie 

Collins 10 

624 Primus in Indis. By M. J. 

• Colquhoun 10 

625 Erema; or. My Father’s Sin. 

By R. D. Blackmore 20 

627 W^hite Heather. By William 

SldfOlc •••• 20 

628 Wedded Hands. By the author 

of ‘’My Lady’s Folly 20 

629 Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. 

Blackmore 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. First half 20 

630 Cradock Nowell, By R. D. 
Blackmore. Second half 20 

634 The Unforeseen. By Alice 

O'Hanlon 20 

635 Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

B ack Horse) Dragoons. By 
J. S. Winter 10 

639 Othmar. By “Ouida” 20 

610 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. By Stuart 

C. Cumberland 10 

642 Britta. By George Temple 10 

643 The Sketch-book of Geoffrey 

Crayon, Gent. By Washing- 
ton Irving 20 

644 A Girton Girl. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longiuains. Bj- 

R h o d a Broughton, and 
Oliver's Bride, liy Mrs. Oli- 
phant 10 

646 The Master of the Mine. By 

Robert Buchanan 20 

647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

melin 10 

649 Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 20 

651 “ Self or Bearer ” By Walter 

Besant 10 

653 A Barren Title. T. W. Speight 10 


The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail loill please order by numbers. Ad- 
dress 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

IIIUNRO’S FUBLIS^HIING HOUSE, 

P. O, Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y^, 




NEW TABERNACLE SERMONS 


BY 

p.T. Dewitt TALM/GE, D,D. 


Handsomely Bonnd in Cloth. 12mo. Price $1.00. 


The latest of Dr. Talmage’s sermons have not yet been pre- 
sented in book form. They have appeared weekly in The New 
York Fireside Companion, and are now 

Ptthllshed for the First Time in Booh Form, 

THE PRICE OF WHICH IS WITHIN THE REACH OP ALL. 


PRINTED IN 

CLEAR, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE, 

AND WILL MAKE 


AN ELEGANT AND ACCEPTABLE HOLIDAY GIFT, 


The above will be sent postpaid on receipt of price, $1.00. 
Address 

GEOUGE MUNRO, Publisher, 


P.O. Box 3751. 


ly to 37 Vaudewater Street* New York. 


JUST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED. 


Juliet cokson’S 

NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 

BY MISS JUIilET CORSON, 

Author of “ Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent of the New York School ob Cookery. 

PEIOE; HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH, $1.00. 

A COMPLETE COOK BOOK 

>'0r Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

AmCTICAL RECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC- 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

rhe Best and Most Economical I>Tethof1s of Cooking Meats, Fish, 
Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Fiiddiiigs and Pies. 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Picked-up Dishes, 
Soups, Seasoning, Stiifliiig and Stews. 

How to Make Good Bread, Biscuit, Omelets, Jellies, .Tams, Pan- 
cakes, Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. Alt of her recipes 
■have been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc- 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for com- 
jflaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed. 

Juliet Corson’s New Pamily Cook Book 

Itj sold by all newsdealers. It will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of price: 
•handsomely bound in cloth, $1.00. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 8751. 17 to 27- Vo ode water St., N X, 


THE NEW YOKK FASHION BAZAR 


BOOK OF THE TOILET. 


Pl&ice 35 CEJ^XS. 


THIS IS A LITTLE BOOK 

WHICH 

WE CAN RECOMMEND TO EVERY LADY 

FOR THE 

PRESERVATION AND INCREASE OF HEALTH AND BEAUTY. 

IT CONTAINS FULL DIRECTIONS FOR ALL THE 

ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL DECORATION, 

AND FOR 

Increasing the Natural Graces of Form and Expression. 

ALL THE LITTLE AFFECTIONS OF THE 

Hair, E3res and. Bod.3r 

THAT DETRACT FROM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

Are Made the Subjects of Precise and Excellent Recipes. 

Ladies ire Instructed How to Reduce Their Weight 

Witliout Injury to Health and Without Producing 
Pallor and Weakness. 


NOTHING- NECESSARY TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AND ^ 

VALUABLE ABVIOE AND INFOEMATION 
HAS BEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOLUME. 

For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt of 25 cents, 
postage prepaid, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Mimro’s Publishing House, 

^ Dr SiJZ 37M. 17 to 37 Vand^water Street, S. Y 


“ Ouida’s ” Latest Novel Now Ready in 
Large, Bold, Handsome Type. 


OTHMAR. 

By “OUIDA.” 

Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, No, 639. 

PK1€£ 20 CEl%'rS» 


For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, 
on receipt of price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MUxNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

P.O.Box 3751. 17 to ‘.i7' Vaude water Street, N. Y. 


NOW READY-Beautifully Bound in Cloth-PRIOE 50 CENTS. 


A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION 

OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Author of “ Through the Looking-Glass,” etc. 

IVith Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Teiiiiiel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes them dance 
with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer for the 
nursery. 

THIS NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE oO CENTS, 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READABLE TYPE, 
WITH ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS 
OF THE EXPENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 


1>y Nlail on Receipt of 50 Cent«$. 


Address GEORGE MUNRO, Wiinro’s Publishing House, 

P, O. Box !i751> 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York, 


TJ 3sr IS o ’ s 



PRICE te:\ cents. 


These books embrace a series of Dialogues and Speeches, all new and 
original, and are just what is needed to give spice and merriment to Social 
Parties, Home Entertainments, Debating Societies, School Recitations, 
Amateur Theatricals, etc. They contain Irish, German, Negro, Yankee, 
and, in fact, all kinds of Dialogues and Speeches. The following are the 
titles of the books: 

No. 1. THE FUNNY FELLOW’S DIALOGUES. 

No. 2. THE CLEMENCE AND DONKEY DIALOGUES. 
No. 3. MRS. SMITH’S BOARDERS’ DIALOGUES. 
No. 4. SCHOOLBOYS’ COMIC DIALOGUES. 


No. 1. TOT I KNOW ’BOUT GRUEL SOCIETIES SPEAKER. 
No. 2. .lOHN B. GO-OFF COMIC SPEAKER. 

No. 3. MY BOY VILHELM’S SPEAKER. 


The above titles express, in a slight degree, the contents of the books, 
which are conceded to be the best series of mirth-provoking Speeches and 
Dialogues extant- Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 


P, O. Bo^ 3751, 


17 to 27 Vaude water Street, N, 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS'. 


Old Sleuth Library 


A Series of the Most Thrilling Detective 
Stories Ever Published I 


NO. PRICE. 

1 Old Sleuth the Detective 10c 

2 The Kiii^ of the Detectives 10c 

3 Old Sleutli’s Triumph. First half 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. Second half 10c 

4 Under a Million Disguises 10c 

6 Night Scenes in New York 10c 

6 Old Ulectricitr, the Lightning Detective 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. First half 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. Second half 10c 

8 Red-Light WilL the River Detective 10c 

9 Iron Dnrgess, the government Detective 10c 

10 Tlie Brigands of New York 10c 

11 Tracked by a Ventriloquist 10c 

12 The Twin Detectives 10c 

13 The French Detective 10c 

14 Billy Wayne, the St. Louis Detective 10c 

15 The New York Detective 10c 

16 O’Neil McDarragh, the Irish Detective 10c 

17 Old Sleuth in Harness Again 10c 

18 The Lady Detective 10c 

19 The Y'ankee Detective 10c 

20 The Fastest Boy in New York 10c 

21 Black Raven, the Georgia Detective 10c 

22 Nighthawk, the Mounted Detective 10c 

23 The Gypsy Detective lOe 

The Pnblislier will send any of the above works by mail, postage 
prepaid, on receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Mimro’s Fiiblishiiig House, 

P. 0. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y, 



A Specialty 


PEARS’ SOAP removes the irritability, redness 
and blotchy appearance of the shin from which many 
childre^i suffer. It is unrivaled as a pure, delight- 
ful TOILET SOAP, and is for sale throughout the 
civilized world. 


The New York Fashion Bazar. 


THE BEST AMEBICAN HOME MAGAZINE. 


Price ‘.i5 CeiitH pel’ Copy. Siibsscripiioii Price 50 per Year. 


A HANDSOME cliroiHO will be given free to every yearly subscriber to the 
New York Monthly Fashion Bazar whose name will be on our books when 
the Christmas number is issued. Persons desirous of availing themselves of 
this elegant present will please forward their subscription as soon as possible. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is a magazine for ladies. It contains 
eveiything which a lady’s magazine ought to contain. The fashions in dress 
which it publishes are new and reliable. Particular attention is devoted to 
fashions for children of all ages. Its plates and descriptions will assist every 
lady in the preparation of her wardrobe, both in making new dresses and re- 
modeling old ones. The fashions are derived from the best houses and are 
always practical as well as new and tasteful. 

Every lady reader of The New York Fashion Bazar can make her own 
dresses with the aid of Munro’s Bazar Patterns. These are carefully cut to 
measure and pinned into the perfect semblance of the garment. They are use- 
ful in altering old as well as in making new clothing. 

The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of the maga- 
zine. Fancy w'ork is carefully described and illustrated, and new patterns 
given in every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home informa- 
tion, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes for cooking 
have each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “The Dcchess,” 
author of “ Molly Bawn,’’ Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Mary E. Bryan, 
author of “ Manch,” and Florence A. Warden, author of “ The House on the 
Marsh.” 

The stories published in The New York Fashion Bazar are the best that 
can be had. 

To avoid being swindled, all persons, when subscribing to The New York 
Fashion Bazar through parties who represent themselves to be the agents of 
the publisher, are requested to make their payments direct to the office of 
publication, by Registered Letter, Post Office IMoney Order, Bank Draft, or 
Check, to the order of George Munro. Canvassers are not authorized to take 
subscriptions at less than the retail price of $2.50 a year, nor to make any col- 
lections whatever. In all cases send remittances to George Munro, Publisher. 

The New York Fashion Bazar is for sale by all newsdealers, price 25 cents 
per copy. Subscription price $2.50 per year. Address 

GEORGE I>IUNROy Munro’s Publishing House, 


P. O. Box3T51. 


17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 


THE CELEBRATEO 



aRAND, SQUARE AlTD UPRIGHT PIANOS. 


I 



ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. Y. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial ExHibi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1883. 


The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 


They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMEB 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicianj 
and critics. 


FROM THE 
NERVE -GIVING 
PRINCIPLES OF 
THE OX-BRAIN 
AND THE GERM 
OF THE WHEAT 
AND OAT. 

BRAIN AND NERYE FOOD. 

VITALIZED PHOSPHITES 

Is a standard with all Physicians who treat 
nervous or mental disorders. It builds up 
worn out nerves, banishes sleeplessness, 
neuralffia and sick headache. It promotes 
p:ood digrestion. It restores the energy lost 
by nervousness, debility, or over-exhaust- 
ion: regenerates weakened vital powers. 


“ It amplifies bodily and mental power to 
the present generation, and proves the sur- 
vival of the fittest to the next.”— Bismarck. 


“ It strengthens nervous power. It is the 
only medical relief I have ever known for 
an over-worked brain.”— Gladstone. 


” I really urge you to put it to the test.”— 

Miss Emily Faithful. 

F. CROSBY CO., 56 W. 25th St., N. Y. 

For sale by Druggists, or by mail $1. 



THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 

POCKET EDITIO.Y. 

MISS M. E. BRAl>DON’S WORKS. 


Munro’s Publications. 


85 Lady Audley’s Se* 

eret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune.. 20 

74 Aurora Fiord 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 
1.58 The Golden Calf. ... 20 

204 Vixen 20 

21 1 TheOctoroon 10 

234 Bnrbur!i;or, Splen- 
did lllsery....... 20 

263 An Ishniiieiite 20 

315The Mistletoe 
Koiigh. Edited by 
M Iss Itniddon .... 20 
484 Wy Hard’s Weird.. 20 
478 Diuvoln; or. No- 
body’s Daughter. 

Part 1 20 

478 Diavoln; or. No- 
body’s Daughter. 

Part II 20 

480 Married In Haste. 
Edited by Miss M. 

E. Hraddon 20 

487 Pnt to the Test. 

Edited hr Miss M. 

E. Hraddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s 

Daughter 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. . . . 20 

495 Mount Royal 20 

496 Uiilv a Woman. 

Edited hr Miss M. 

E. Hraddon 20 


497 The laidy’s Mile... 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot... 20 

51 1 A St range World , . 20 
515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 
524 Strangers and Pil- 
grims 20 

629 The Hortor’s Wife. 20 
542 Fenton’s Quest.... 20 
644 Cut by the County; 

or, Grace Darnel. 10 


548 The Fatal Marriage, 
and The Shadow 
in the Corner. .. . 10 
540 Dudley Carleon; or. 

The Brother’s Se- 
cret, and George 
Caulfield’s Jour- 
ney 10 

552 Hostages toFortnne 20 

553 Birds of Prey 2C' 

554 Charlotte’s Inher- 

itance. (Seqnel to 
“Birds of Prey.”) 20 
657 To the Bitter End. 20 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Jnst ns I am; or, A 

Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes.. 20 
670 John .Marchmont’s 

Legacy ^ 20 


Any of the above works will be sent by mail, post, 
on receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNKO, Mnnro’s Pnhltshing lUnse, 
P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. 


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